BATMAN: Gotham Campaign Of Crime
by Bruce Wayne
Summary: The campaign for mayor of Gotham City is underway. But is the city's underworld really in control? Chapter 12, the conclusion, is now up! Final battle between Batman & the Penguin henchman Shark.
1. Chapter 1

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BATMAN: GOTHAM CAMPAIGN OF CRIME

By Bruce Wayne

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Batman created by Bob Kane and Bill Finger

DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.

CHAPTER 1

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Gotham City. My city. Long ago, I made a vow at the graveside of my murdered parents to protect the innocent from the evildoers who preyed upon them. It's what I live for. It's what I do every night.

That rather sardonic thought was on the mind of the crimefighter called Batman as he arched gracefully through the air on a thin strand of wire high over the congested streets of Gotham City. His gray-clad legs pumped out before him with smooth, practiced ease as he propelled his swinging body to the roof of the building on the corner of Ninth Avenue and Kane Street.

Batman stood at the edge of the roof and stared unseeing into the dark streets thirty floors below. He perched precariously on the decaying masonry. He felt the warm spring air against the exposed skin on his face.

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I spend most of my time pursuing my crusade of fighting the relentless war on crime that plagues my city. I can best prey on the forces of evil by walking in the same dark shadows that they inhabit. But they know that I'm their worst nightmare. I'm determined to strike terror throughout the underworld. That's why most criminals know me as simply "The Bat."

I need to be careful in this part of Gotham. The police in this district are less than appreciative of my efforts to assist them. It's been that way since the former GCPD 

SWAT team commander, a man known as Branden, got busted after he ran into a little difficulty trying to capture me when I first started donning the costume.

He crouched at the roof's edge and rested his elbows on his knees. The white lenses that covered the eyes on his mask stared unblinking into the darkness of the night.

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I think back to that fateful night when my world was torn apart by a criminal who stepped from the shadows of a doorway. It is, by far, my worst memory. In a matter of seconds, I lost my mother and father -- the two most important people in my life. Their loss, before my very eyes, changed my life forever. That same night, I made a solemn oath that I will never forget.

The Caped Crusader stood, his mouth set in a grim line beneath his cowl, and pointed his right arm out before him, holding his patented grapnel. He pressed the firing button at the side of the handle. With a low "twipping" sound, a thin, strong wire was propelled from the grapnel with a sharp, wall-penetrating dart attached to the end of it. The wire shot unerringly through the night sky and adhered securely to the cornice of a building farther up Ninth Avenue. With expertise, Batman leaped out into space.

His legs kicked widely as the Dark Knight swung himself away from the building. Reaching the apex of his swing, he fired another wire strand at another building farther up Ninth, each incredible swing carrying him the length of a city block.

But the Masked Manhunter's thoughts were not on the delicate acrobatics that made this unique mode of transportation possible for him. He had long ago reached the point where such actions were as natural to him as walking. And even the exhilaration of swinging unencumbered through the air was not sufficient to drive the dark thoughts from Batman's mind.

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My childhood ended the night my parents were brutally murdered before my eyes in Crime Alley. After what happened that terrible night, I embarked on an odyssey to forge my mind and body into a living weapon. I became the world's most dangerous man. Though I have no real super power, I am a master of virtually every known fighting discipline.

Suddenly, there was a sound. He swung his body with a concerted effort and made contact with the rooftop of an old tenement building.

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That sounded like a gunshot.

The telltale tingle of Batman's sixth sense, if there was such a thing, signaled that danger was nearby or imminent. Thus, even before the muted echo of gunshots and the distant scream of sirens reached his ears, the darkly clad man was swinging hurriedly to the scene of the trouble.

A familiar, feminine voice talked into his ear via a highly sophisticated, encrypted radio system.

"Boss?" came a message from the woman known as Oracle. "Trouble at the Sportsarama store at Tenth Avenue and Sprang Street. Police say they have a hostage situation."

Into the hidden microphone, his only reply was, "Got it."

In the late evening, this street was normally filled with people as they hurried to the security of home, hearth, and the eleven o'clock news after a day of loud-mouthed bosses and hassles too numerous to mention. This evening, however, Tenth Avenue between Sprang and Da Vinci streets was an armed camp, blocked at either intersection by GCPD cars. In the middle of this tiny oasis, a dozen more police cars were standing, their red, blue and white roof lights blinking almost hypnotically on the brick canyon walls of the street. The occupants of those cars, police officers, were crouched behind them, most with their service weapons drawn, some anxiously clutching shotguns. The car's flashing lights were reflected in the officers' gleaming eyes, all of which were fixed on the bullet-ridden plate-glass window of Sportsarama.

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There's trouble brewing in that sporting goods store.

Batman stood on the roof of the building overlooking Sportsarama, keeping himself safely out of the view of the police below in the shadows. Sportsarama was the lowest structure on the block, surrounded on either side by taller office buildings. As he peered through the gloom, Batman could detect no sign of activity on the peeling tar-paper roof below, and, making sure he stayed in the shadows, he began a swift, gliding descent down the side of the building via his grapnel.

Suddenly, the calm of the late evening was shattered by the deafening roar of a handgun filling the street below, source of origin: the now shattered plate-glass facade of Sportsarama.

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It appears someone is trying to make a statement at the point of a gun. I don't like guns.

The police ducked behind their cars, keeping out of range of the shooting but making no move to return fire. An overweight plainclothes detective with a cigar in his mouth and donut in his hand stuck his head up from behind one of the cars, his other hand held a crackling bullhorn to his mouth. "HOLD YOUR FIRE, MEN!" Lt Harvey Bullock ordered. "HOLD YOUR FIRE! REMEMBER, THEY GOT HOSTAGES IN THERE!"

The Gotham Goliath made a sour face beneath his mask. _Just as I thought. Probably a couple of perpetrators holed up in there ... with who knows how many hostages. They must've botched a holdup and decided this was better than shooting it out with the police without a shield._

This could be a very difficult situation for the police. A sporting goods store is stocked with enough guns and ammunition for those dastardly criminals to hold off the U.S. Marines forever. And let's talk about food ... they've probably got enough of the canned and dehydrated variety on hand to last them and the Marines even longer than forever.

The shooting from inside the store stopped as suddenly as it had began, and Batman dropped the last fifteen feet to the peeling roof below, staying within the safety of the darkness cast by the taller buildings surrounding him.

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With Bullock running things, this show could last longer than Fiddler on the Roof_ and the police can't risk any harm coming to the hostages by rushing in._

But I can get inside and put the evildoers into unconsciousness before the hostages get hurt. They're committing an act of crime in my city.

Batman landed in a crouch and his eyes narrowed behind the lenses of his mask as he searched the shadows. He was alone on the roof. He owned the darkness of night,

Staying low, the Caped Crusader moved across the tar paper, his booted feet almost gliding across the torn surface. He came to the edge of the darkness and stood there motionless for along moments, eyes and ears vigilant for the slightest disturbance in the night. The nearest cover was a good nine feet away, a large metal air-conditioning duct that jutted four feet from the tar-paper roof. He crouched even lower and sprang forward, covering the three yards between shadow and duct quickly.

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So far, so good. 

Batman kept the duct between himself and the street as he dove over the rear edge of the roof ...

... A mere moment before a bullet tore into the surface where he had stood!

He clung his fingertips to the underside of the roof's ledge and exhaled sharply.

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That was close!

But there was no haven for the Dark Knight behind the two-story building, even though it shielded him from the police sharpshooters who continued to fire at the roof from the windows of the taller buildings across Tenth Avenue. For, clad in blue and white helmets and bulky flak vests, each wielding a shotgun, two policemen were advancing on the rear door of Sportsarama through a litter-strewn back alley. They started suddenly at the sound of gunfire from above and swung their shotguns and alert gazes upward, settling both on the dangling Batman.

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They have to be Branden's boys.

The officers stared at the Masked Manhunter for long seconds before one of them recovered his voice. "B-Batman!"

Batman did not reply verbally. _Any second now, one of them is going to remember they've got guns in their ..._

As if they had read his thoughts, the second officer brought his shotgun to his shoulder. "Get him, Cortez! Dont'cha know the captain wants his head."

The harsh roar of the shotgun filled the night.

But Batman had taken full advantage of the second's hesitation and had swung his legs straight up over his head in a backward somersault, landing on the roll back on the roof. Some enterprising policeman had thought to shine a floodlight on the roof from across the street, however, and Batman landed in the bright light with no shadows to hide in.

High-caliber bullets tore up the tar paper behind him as Batman leaped and rolled across the roof, his zigzag pattern creating an almost impossible target for the snipers several hundred yards away. Then, with a powerful leap, he was above the circle of light, ascending, with the help of his grapnel, with amazing speed straight up the adjoining wall.

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I really need to pay a little visit to Branden. 

*****

Ed Manning stood hunched over behind the remains of the plate-glass front of Sportsarama, a .45 Magnum clutched in his trembling sweaty hand. He had stood thusly for the better part of a half-hour, his wide, frightened eyes darting over the assemblage of police officers in the street. The gunfire on the roof moments ago had sent his already frazzled nerves near to the breaking point.

Manning was shielded from the street by a bullet-torn manikin modeling a bright orange goosedown coat. The interior of Sportsarama was dark, the aisles of sporting equipment and clothing shrouded in deep gloom. From the street, the inside of the store looked like a shapeless mass of dark shadowy figures.

"Manning!"

The word was called from the darkened rear of the store where Manning's partner in crime kept their four hostages at gunpoint. The fierce whisper made Manning jump as he whirled with the Magnum thrust out before him, almost slipping out of his sweaty palm.

"Put it down, stupid! You wanna blow my head off with that thing?" John Garland walked casually down the aisle toward his cohort, a high-powered hunting rifle slung loosely over his shoulder. His hard, cruel face was set in a malevolent grin toward the cowering man by the window.

"I-I'm sorry, John," Manning stuttered. "I'm just a little uptight is all. I'll be all right." Garland continued to grin at his associate, the spinning lights from outside glinting in his dark, evil eyes. "H-honest!" Manning added hurriedly. 

"Yeah, Ed. You _better _be okay, buddy-boy, because any time now, we may be up to our eyeballs in a shootout ..." Garland whipped the rifle off his shoulder and pointed it menacingly at Manning. "And you better not let me down! _Comprende?_"

Manning nodded convulsively, his bulging eyes staring into the black barrel inches from his face.

Garland turned his head casually as he heard the short, hesitant footsteps of a woman in high heels behind him. "What d'ya want _now_, lady?" he sighed wearily.

Ann Downing stopped beside a display of running shoes, her hands nervously shredding an already partially demolished Kleenex. An hour earlier, she had stopped at Sportsarama on her way home from school to pick up a pair of those shoes for school. Now she was frightened to death, didn't know if she'd ever get those all-important running shoes.

Garland grinned at the pale, shiny face with obvious pleasure. It was evident that he was a man who liked to hold the upper hand in every situation -- especially when that hand clutched a hunting rifle. "I said what d'ya want?"

Ann put her hand to her throat. "P-please, the old man ... the owner ... he's getting worse! His heart, I-I think. You've got to let him ..."

Manning rushed forward, his gun thrust out at the frightened girl's head. "_Shut up, dammit! _Get back there with the rest of 'em and just shut up!" he screamed.

Whimpering, Ann Downing pulled back, her vision clouded by tears. They were both crazy, she thought. _Nobody _was ever going to leave this place alive ... not the crooks and not the hostages. And certainly not Charles Beckman, aged seventy-three, who lay in the rear of the store to which he had dedicated a third of his life. His heart was attacking him.

Fifty-six-year-old Betty Baum comforted the old man, holding his red, clammy face in her ample lap, listening in utter helplessness to his labored breathing. Her nine-year-old grandson, Howard, knelt on the floor beside his grandmother, frightened and holding onto her skirt with both hands. Betty looked up hopefully as Ann sank wearily to the floor beside her, her hands unable to stop trembling.

"_No?"_

Ann shook her head. "They're not going to let Mister Beckman go, Mrs. Baum. They're not going to let any of us ..." Ann stopped suddenly, looking quietly at the boy. But he had not heard her. He was watching in fear as Garland and Manning walked toward the hostages.

"Comfy, folks?" Garland chuckled.

"Listen to me, you men," Betty Baum said angrily. "This man is sick. You just can't let him lie here and die!"

Garland smiled evilly. "Why the hell not, lady?" It just gives him a head start on the rest of you!"

The floodlight that shone on the roof of Sportsarama winked out, the officers manning it convinced that the object of their search had long since fled under a fusillade of bullets.

Beneath his cowl, Batman was somewhat relieved.

Once again, he lowered himself down the sheer brick face and dropped to the now dark roof of the squat building. In a second, he had retraced his earlier route across the tattered tar paper and stood by the large air-conditioning duct. He looked about once and then quite effortlessly ripped the metal grille from the top of the duct.

He hoisted himself up and into the duct and slid several feet down, dragging the metal grille back into place above him. _Why give one of Branden's nosy men something to trip over and worry about?_

Batman had to lift his arms straight up over his head to negotiate the tight fit of the narrow, vertical shaft, but with a bit of wiggling, the Caped Crusader was able to slide slowly down the duct until he came to a grille that looked out into an empty, second-floor room. Batman maneuvered his body in the narrow confines of the duct until he could brace his feet against the grille. Powerful muscles bunched as he pushed against the covering with his legs, forcing the metal grille loose from the wall with a minimum of sound. With a final shove, the grille came loose and hung against the wall by a single screw.

There was nothing in the room but dust.

Unfortunately for the Dark Knight, he wasn't as quiet as he thought he was when he forced opened the grille. On the first floor directly beneath where Batman made his entry into the store, Manning heard the grille popping open and a look of panic crossed his face. _"John! _Hey, man, t-there's a _cop_ up there!"

"Yeah?" Garland pulled back the bolt on his rifle, feeding a shell into the breech. "Let's see how long he _stays _up there." Without bothering to take aim, he pointed the barrel of the gun at the ceiling over his head and squeezed the trigger three times in rapid succession, plugging large holes in the plaster overhead.

As the shots tore through the floorboard, Batman, without thought, threw himself headlong across the dusty floor into a corner.

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I guess there's no sense playing hide-and-seek up here any longer, so ...

Reaching to his utility belt, the Masked Avenger of Gotham City pulled out a red pellet. He aimed a throw to the center of the floor and covered his face with his cape to protect himself from the tremendous explosion that erupted.

The blast of the ceiling over their heads caused Manning, Garland, and the four hostages to cover their heads with their arms for protection from the shower of plaster.

The women screamed.

"W-what is it, man? What _happened, _John?"

John Garland didn't answer. Rather he stared in disbelief at the man in the gray and black costume who now stood with his arms folded looking at him. The guy was big and scary. Spread across the gray portion of this bizarre garb was a frightening black bat pattern. He couldn't see the eyes. They were covered with what appeared to be white lenses.

"You're wasting your time asking your friend, punk," Batman said. "Ask me. I caused it."

Manning struggled to his feet as panic gripped him in the face of this ... this ... Bat-Man. He brought his gun up and aimed it unsteadily at the Bat's head. The Caped Crusader never moved. He just stared at the would-be gunman and, with lightning-quick speed, snaked his hand out and knocked the Magnum to the floor. Then he brought his hand back and slapped the trembling criminal across the mouth, sending him flying across the room to crash into a display of stacked cans of tennis balls.

The women screamed again.

As Garland watched his dazed partner struggle to his feet amid the toppled pile of tin cans, Batman somersaulted in midair to land on his feet next to the huddle-together hostages.

Betty Baum cowered, hugging Mister Beckman's head close to her breast as she glanced fearfully at Batman. She reached for her grandson's hand.

Garland recovered from his initial shock quickly and turned on Batman, a low growl beginning deep in his throat.

"You want to take me on, you filthy criminal?" Batman said. But the hold-up man merely growled louder and swung his rifle into line with the Dark Knight's midriff.

Batman merely shook his head and his right arm whipped out quickly. Garland felt a sudden, sharp pain in his shoulder after he was struck by three mini-Batarangs. Razor-sharp and lightweight, the mini-Batarangs were thrown and utilized like ninja _shuriken._

The pain in Garland's shoulder forced him to drop the rifle to the floor.

Batman began to whirl when he heard Ann Downing's gasp behind him, but that move was cut short as a blinding flash of pain shot through his neck and shoulders. He fell limply to the floor. Ed Manning stood over him, holding a baseball bat in his hands. Through the red haze of pain, the Masked Manhunter saw the nervous crook rushing at him, the bat poised over his head to deliver the final blow.

Abruptly, the Gotham Goliath pulled back his legs, bent at the knees, and rammed both feet into Manning's stomach. The man's breath exploded from his lungs and Batman pushed him aside before springing to his feet.

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How could I let that punk take a shot at me with that baseball bat? I must not be taking these thugs seriously enough.

Garland tugged frantically at his belt as he groped for the handle of his revolver. He pulled it loose with a loud tearing of cloth and before the Caped Crusader could make a grab for him, began firing wildly.

Batman leaped quickly to one side, the deadly hail of lead riddling the wall behind where he had stood. Garland looked about him in the gloom of the store, his eyes flashing madly.

"Over here, creep." Batman whispered.

The Dark Knight stood about ten feet in front of Garland. The hostages were behind the criminal.

Batman glanced quickly to his side in time to see Manning rise unsteadily to his feet once again, the glint of fear in his eyes replaced now with an almost maniacal gleam of hate.

Once again Batman's right hand whipped out in a quick motion and three more mini-Batarangs were thrown -- this time at Manning. With a scream of outrage, Ed Manning fell forward knocking himself cold against the edge of a display case full of switchblades.

John Garland continued to fire his pistol until it was empty, but suddenly his hands no longer seemed to possess their former steadiness and his shots went awry. It was this black demon who claimed the shadows as his own, that Bat-Man who could be neither shot nor knocked out. It stood like a dark thing of the night against the stark white walls of the store, like ...

... like a creature from hell!

The crook threw his empty gun at the dark shadow, but it merely slapped the weapon aside as easily as it was swatting away a bug. A chill of terror went up Garland's spine. "Face it, punk," it said in a growling whisper. "You're going _up _the river."

With that, Batman sprang forward and threw himself on top of the screaming form of John Garland. His right fist flashed out and caught Garland on the chin. A low cry of terror was cut short in the crook's throat as his head snapped violently back and he sagged like a deflating balloon to the floor.

Batman put a pair of Batcuffs around the wrists of each criminal and left them laying face down of the floor with their hands behind their backs.

Next, he looked toward the cowering hostages. The Masked Avenger seemed to speak into the air. "O? Splash two inside the sporting goods store. Tell the police to bring paramedics. One of the hostages appears to need medical attention."

In his ear, Oracle replied, "Roger, boss."

He turned back to the hostages and asked, "Is everybody else okay?"

But none of the hostages responded. Mrs. Baum and Ann lay huddled on the floor, their bodies shielding Mister Beckman and Howard from stray bullets.

Knowing that there was nothing more he could do and the GCPD SWAT team would be making entry into the store at any moment, Batman sprang lithely through the hole in the ceiling.

Batman pulled open a musty window upstairs and climbed out, using his grapnel to allow him to ascend to the top of the building next door to the sporting goods store.

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My work is finished, here.

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To be continued ...

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	2. Chapter 2

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BATMAN: GOTHAM CAMPAIGN OF CRIME

By Bruce Wayne

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Batman created by Bob Kane and Bill Finger

DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.

CHAPTER 2

The Batmobile drove over the automatic warning horse, headed toward the concealed entrance of the cave. Green foliage helped hide the massive door that also opened automatically at the approach of the incredible vehicle. Quickly, the rolling arsenal that belonged to the Caped Crusader of Gotham City made its way into a long, dark tunnel that led to a hydraulic turntable for the car on the first level of the Batcave.

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The cave. I decided to come back home early this evening after the hostage situation at the sporting goods store.

He knew that his entrance back into the magnificent headquarters in his war against crime would not go unnoticed. 

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He's always there. Just as a "gentleman's gentleman" is supposed to do.

"An early evening, sir?" the crisp, British-accented voice asked as Batman stepped out of the car.

"Somewhat, Alfred," the Dark Knight answered. "I got banged in the back with a baseball bat and it feels sort of stiff."

"Ah, we weren't taking the young street ruffians seriously enough this evening, I gather."

"Something like that, I suppose," Batman answered wearily.

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I look around the cave. It took years and a lot of money to put this base against crime together.

To the Masked Manhunter's left were the huge flight of stairs that led back up to Wayne Manor. Next to the stairs was the Bat-costume vault, where he would be headed shortly to change back to his civilian attire. A little deeper in the cavern on the first level, was a garage of sorts where a number of older versions of the Batmobile were parked and worked on.

Just past the automobile garage was the Bat-Infirmary, where Alfred, who was a skilled combat medic, would often patch up the injured Caped Crusader after some of his rougher forays on the streets of Gotham City.

Batman turned and looked behind him. In what was almost another room was his fabulous crime lab that rivaled any official laboratory like it in the world. The lab contained every imaginable forensic tool that might be needed in his crusade against evil. The lab could do genetic and fiber analysis if need be. There was no reason whatsoever for Batman to ever seek outside scientific assistance during the course of an investigation. Everything he needed was here.

An elevator could take the Gotham Goliath to the second level of the cave. It was here that Batman spent most of his time. The incredible Bat-Operations Center allowed him to constantly monitor what was happening in Gotham City and around the world. The Op-Center contained computers and communications equipment, large screen televisions and other electronic equipment that let the Masked Avenger keep close tabs of crime trends, events, and situations wherever they may occur.

As one walked out of the Operations Center, they would enter the large and unique Trophy Room. Among the various exhibits and mementos -- in which many were kept in showcases -- were a giant T. Rex robot that stood in the center of the room. A giant 1947 Lincoln head penny. The diary of detective Dana Drye revealing Bruce Wayne as Batman. The first version of the Bat-Signal. The sword of the assassin Deathstroke. Hanging from the ceiling was a large rendition of a Joker playing card, 

After walking through the Trophy Room, a visitor would encounter a closed steel door to one side that was the entrance to Hydrogen generator that powered everything in the cave,

Next would come the Central Computer station that contained the brainpower of the cave's computer system. The Bat-Computer was one of the most powerful mainframe computer systems in the world.

Behind the Central Computer station was the gymnasium and weight room where Batman kept his body in peak athletic condition.

A third level of the cave contained the Bat-Subway rocket terminal, the Batboat mooring and storage tanks for gasoline and aviation fuel for the transportation equipment that was utilized by Batman.

"Is Selina around?" Batman asked his butler.

"I do believe Miss Selina is working on the computer in your study, sir. I was quite surprised that she wasn't donning her costume this evening to cavort on the rooftops of our fair city. It appears to me that she is doing some sort of research. It was, of course, not my place to inquire what that research may entail."

The Dark Knight nodded and headed to the Bat-costume vault. It took a few minutes to remove, first, his cape and then his cowl, revealing the handsome features of Bruce Wayne. Then he took off the weapons, boots and other garments that turned him into the scourge of the underworld known as Batman. 

Bruce put on a green polo-shirt along with a beige pair of khaki pants. He slipped into a pair of comfortable brown loafers and exited the vault. He ran his fingers quickly through his dark hair.

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Playing fisticuffs with those thugs sure took a lot out me. I should hit the bed early tonight and get some sleep.

Alfred had already returned back upstairs to the mansion via a service elevator that was hidden in the pantry of Wayne Manor.

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Might as well see what Selina is up to tonight.

Bruce then started to ascend the huge stone staircase that led to his home.

^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^

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Selina. That name conjures up a great number of meanings to me. First, she was one of my greatest adversaries. Catwoman -- the best cat burglar to grace the skyline of Gotham City. We met several times on the rooftops of her targets. Our knock down, drag out battles and my pursuit of her were legendary.

Then one day, something happened. I realized that I had somehow became attracted to her. One night, I kissed her. I then grew to love her.

Selina is beautiful, intelligent, brash, fearless, charming, witty ... the perfect companion for me.

The concealed door to the Batcave that was hidden behind the grandfather's clock in Bruce Wayne's study opened. Bruce tried not to show the pain he felt in his back and shoulders.

Selina Kyle was sitting at the desk, staring at the computer screen with her chin on her hand.

With a practiced eye, she barely glanced at him and noted, "Got clobbered tonight, huh, handsome?"

Bruce feigned shock. "How can you tell?"

"A woman knows." 

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I'm not even going to bother to ask her what that is supposed to mean. 

He leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Selina, how many times have I told you that you can't go prancing around the mansion half-naked?"

"What? I'm covered -- you can't see anything."

Selina was wearing one of Bruce's dress shirts. The first four buttons were unbuttoned and Bruce stared at her ample cleavage.

"You know," she said, "for someone with a reputation as an international playboy, you sure are a prude."

"I'm just thinking about Alfred."

She laughed. "Okay." She buttoned one button. "There! Happy now?"

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I have to tell myself to not get into these banter contests with her. I'll never win.

Her beauty is breathtaking for someone who was once one of Gotham's most notorious criminals, with long, dark hair, an angelic face and body that would drive any man wild. 

Bruce glanced at the computer screen on top of his desk. "What are you working on?"

"Just doing a little research."

"I hope that doesn't mean you're planning on stealing something from someone."

"How many times have I told you, it's not _stealing_ ..." 

"It's stealing."

"Must you always look at things in black and white?"

"I'll ask the questions, here."

She laughed.

"Who are you doing research on?"

"Oswald."

"The Penguin? Why?" Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot was the real name of the master criminal better known as The Penguin.

Selina sighed wistfully. "He apparently has something that belongs to someone else. A friend has asked me to _inquire, _if you will, whether or not Oswald has this particular item. I might be able to return the item to its rightful owner."

"Selina, you don't need to take outside jobs for money. I have plenty for the both of us."

"You know it's not the money! I need to keep my skills sharp. This is a perfect exercise."

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I'm not going to win. I know better than to forbid her to do something. It doesn't work that way with her.

"What is it you're supposed to steal?"

She let out an exasperated sigh. "The less you know the better, don't you think?"

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She's right. As always.

"Are you going to be much longer? I was going to go to bed," he told her.

"No, I'm pretty much finished. I was actually waiting for you to come back home."

Selina stood up from the chair and a pen rolled off the desk and fell to the floor. With her back to him, she bent over to pick it up and gave Bruce an unobstructed view of her rear end.

Bruce Wayne's heart began thumping like a sledgehammer in his chest. The view was incredible.

Selina stood back up -- all five-feet-seven fantastically stacked inches of her. Bruce stood staring, wide-eyed and open-mouthed at her smiling, movie-star face.

The woman known as Catwoman stepped closer to Bruce, her long, shiny, black hair swinging around her back, her sparkling green eyes smiling at him. "Coming to bed, lover?"

Bruce tried not to let a grin break through his usual broody demeanor. His lip twitched.

Selina brightened. "Do I detect a note of surrender?"

"Well, no ... I ...

Selina linked arms with Bruce and led him out of the study toward the stairs that led to the upper floors of Wayne Manor.

"Now admit it, Bruce, being in love with me isn't so bad."

"Well, no ... but ..."

"And I help you with your work all the time, right?"

"Sure, but ..."

They started up the wooden stairs, Selina maintaining a firm grip on Bruce's arm.

"Besides, Bruce, I think you're kind of cute."

Bruce looked suddenly into her smiling green eyes.

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What is this hold she has me? She just has to touch me, bat her beautiful eyes and say the right things and I'm putty in her hands.

Selina smiled seductively at him. "You need someone to massage those sore, broad shoulders and back of yours?"

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She's got the most incredible eyes.

Bruce leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips.

Selina Kyle's eyes twinkled brightly as she squeezed Bruce's arm. "Mmmmm. I take that as a _yes._"

__

Selina is everything I could ever want in a woman. Even her bad qualities are good!

At the door of his master bedroom, Bruce turned and asked, "Where did I ever find you?"

"Ransacking a safe in Tiffany's, if I remember."

He leaned over and kissed her. "You're right."

Selina smiled at him and kissed him before stepping into the bedroom. Once they entered, she started to close the door behind her and suddenly found Bruce pressed against her. 

She laughed and placed her hands in his hair as she kissed him back. Selina sighed and began pulling off the dress shirt she was wearing. 

__

The long night was just about to get a little longer.

****

To be continued ...

__ __ __


	3. Chapter 3

****

BATMAN: GOTHAM CAMPAIGN OF CRIME

By Bruce Wayne

__

Batman created by Bob Kane and Bill Finger

DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.

CHAPTER 3

As it did every morning, the sun rose over Gotham City. At stately Wayne Manor, Alfred Pennyworth made sure the televisions in the mansion were tuned to the most popular news program in the city, "The Foster A.M. Report."

The longtime butler of Bruce Wayne was preparing a breakfast of ham and eggs when he turned his attention to the television. On the screen were videotaped highlights of his master's rescue last night at the sporting goods store. He leaned forward and cranked up the volume to catch the middle of Dan Foster's voiceover commentary.

" ... night at dusk. Though police had cordoned off the area, WGBX-TV cameraman Dick Landau managed to take these videotapes with his camera from atop a nearby building.

"Batman, perhaps the most mysterious of Gotham City's costumed vigilantes, arrived on the scene shortly after police ..." The scene shifted to Batman's acrobatic leaps and rolls out of the range of police sharpshooters. Alfred was shocked at how close the Caped Crusader had come to being struck down by a bullet. The picture changed again to an extreme close-up of the front of Sportsarama, showing the brief battle between the Dark Knight and the two thugs in silhouette.

"... and though police sharpshooters fired warning shots at the masked man to warn him away from the scene, Batman managed to enter the store through an air-conditioning duct and subdue the alleged kidnappers in short order. No one was seriously injured, and Charles Beckman, the seventy-three-year-old owner of the store who suffered a heart attack, is reported in stable condition at Mount Sinai Hospital."

Dan Foster, his open gently lined faced set in a somber expression, appeared next on the screen. "I chose this story to close my broadcast this morning, ladies and gentlemen, because it fits in with what I next have to say." His steel-gray eyes stared directly and professionally into the camera. "And that is, this is my last program with WGBX-TV News. Effective immediately, I am resigning from television broadcasting."

Alfred paid closer attention to what the most trusted voice in Gotham City had to say. He turned up the volume even louder in order not to miss what Foster was saying to his audience. "As little more than a reader of news, I do not feel I can accomplish what I think needs to be done. I have, over the years, witnessed much from this seat, become intimate with the most powerful men and women in this city and this country, and I am convinced that I am needed elsewhere. In short, ladies and gentlemen, I feel there is one place in particular I can do the most good, and therefore, I must concentrate all my time and energies there. That, my friends, is in the public service of my home for most of my fifty-seven years."

The television camera zoomed in for a close-up of the newsman. "Therefore, my friends, I have decided to place my name in nomination for the upcoming mayoral primary in Gotham City."

"Camera three, give me a close-up." The director was speaking softly in the hushed darkness of "The Foster A.M. Report" control room, relaying his instructions to the trio of cameras in the well-lit studio beyond the soundproof glass window.

Over one channel of his headset, the director heard the various voices of crewmen and technicians chattering among themselves and him on the mechanics of the show. On the other, the well-known voice of Dan Foster came in loud and clear.

"Crime," the newsman was saying. "Crime is the number one problem and fear of the citizens of Gotham City. As the video of the sporting goods store robbery so clearly illustrates, the people of this city are no longer safe anywhere. It is time this deplorable situation be brought to an end!"

The broadcast monitor, the central monitor that showed the scene being beamed across Gotham City, held the picture of Dan Foster seated behind his desk, hands folded before him.

"Whether last night's robbery was the work of ordinary criminals, or as some police experts have speculated, the masked vigilante called Batman, is irrelevant. The point is this: rampant crime on the streets must end. I hope I will be the man who is able to help this city reach that goal."

"Five seconds to credits," the director said.

"So ladies and gentlemen, I thank you for your years of faithful viewings. I hope to be with you still in the years to come." He smiled knowingly into the lens. "Good morning and good luck."

"Roll credits."

Camera two kept its red eye of Foster in a long shot as he shuffled papers meaninglessly on his desk. It wasn't until he heard the director's voice in his earplug saying, "That's a wrap people," and the light on the camera winked out, that he stood. He knew that by the time he reached his dressing room/office two floors above the studio, reporters would be gathering from all the major networks, newspapers, and wire services to interview him. He was, after all, big news.

A lighting technician walked up to Foster and shook the anchorman's hand. "Hey, good luck there, Mister Foster. We're all going to miss working on your program."

Foster slapped the man's back and smiled. "Thanks, Artie. I just hope the crew I get to work on my campaign is half as good as the one I had here." The older man's eyes twinkled in the bright studio lights, leaving no doubt in Artie's mind as to the sincerity of Foster's words. After all the years, Dan Foster knew the power of those steel-gray eyes. They projected honesty and warmth. He was everybody's father.

He shook hands and exchanged small talk with several members of the crew as he strolled casually from the set. The longer he took to reach his office, the longer the newsmen from the nearby stations and newspapers would have to gather in force. News of his resignation from television to seek elected office was of great importance because more people tuned in to watch him all across Gotham City than any other man on the tube.

Even before he had graduated high school in the mid-1960s, Dan Foster was an experienced journalist, working nights and weekends as a stringer -- a freelance reporter -- for the Gotham Post. At seventeen, he was the first reporter to break the story of scandal and corruption in the city's sanitation department. By the time he was twenty, he was hired by United Press International and assigned to their Pacific office on Oahu. There, he covered the Pacific rim for UPI.

Eventually, WGBX radio stole Foster away from the print media. The one thing that cinch the deal to make the transition from print to radio was a pretty young secretary at WGBX named Michelle Marcus.

"Sure, it isn't a great job at WGBX," she told him, "but that's _now."_ It would she assured him, lead to bigger and better things than the wire service could ever hope to offer. Foster decided to trust this girl's instincts. He also decided he was falling in love with her. And, on the eve of his move to radio, they were married.

It didn't take Foster long to make another transition in his career, this time into television news. With a youthful and trusting face, he was soon a fixture in two out of every three Gotham City households. His ratings never flagged in all the years since. Indeed, throughout his more than two decades on television, he managed to accumulate more Emmy Awards than other single person in Gotham history. He was the most respected man in Gotham City broadcasting. His reputation was beyond reproach, or, as one rival programming executive, looking for a way to beat the unbeatable in the ratings war, put it, "The only thing we've been able to pin on Foster so far is sainthood!"

Foster grinned broadly at his reflection in the elevator doors. He was, he had long ago decided, the perfect candidate for anything. He hoped the voters of Gotham City agreed.

He stepped from the elevator down the corridor from his office. A crush of reporters and television cameramen were waiting impatiently for his arrival from the studio, harassing his already harried secretary with questions.

Dan Foster squared his broad shoulders and pasted his most sincere smile on his face. "Gentlemen," he called out to them.

Instantly, cameras and blazing lights were pointed in his direction and anxious reporters rushed to him with pens and microphones poised.

He was on.

^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^

The studio-owned limousine took Dan Foster to his Robinson Park West condominium and waited at the curb until the newsman was safely inside the lavish lobby. The uniformed doorman smiled, tipping his hat. "Caught your show this morning, Mister Foster. You got my vote, that's for sure."

Foster grinned tiredly. "Thanks, Hank. I can use all I can get." An elevator was waiting in the lobby and, waving good night to the doorman, he stepped inside and pressed the button for the penthouse.

He was exhausted. His day began each morning at 4:30, when he awoke to meet the limo that took him to his 8:00 A.M. appointment with "The Foster A.M. Report." Then, as his program's news editor, he worked through the day before his afternoon nap and preparation for his 6:00 P.M. evening news program. But this day, even though he did not have to work on his evening newscast, had been longer than most, punctuated by impromptu press conferences and numerous calls from the media and his superiors at WGBX-TV. A lengthy meeting with the station's top executives ran through his scheduled nap time (his announcement, coming as a surprise in the middle of his contract-renewal talks, was not well met by them), and by the time he managed to leave the studio, it was past midnight.

All that was on his mind now was a quick shower and sleep.

The elevator opened on the penthouse floor and Foster let himself into the apartment. He didn't bother switching on the lights as he negotiated the spacious living room in the dark. But before he could reach the stairs that led to the upper floor of the duplex apartment, Foster stopped short, the small hairs on his neck bristling.

He felt the presence of someone else in the apartment!

Foster heard the low, steady clucking in the middle of the room and pivoted. He swung around to face ... whoever. He knew it was not his wife, she would of heard him enter and spoken up, and none of the kids was home. Who ...?

"Quack, squawk. Good evening, Mister Foster." A deep, resonant voice pierced the darkness of the room. But Foster relaxed almost instantly. He recognized that voice.

"I should've figured," he said to the small shape seated comfortably on the sofa. The tinge of fear was still in his voice and he realized he had to clasp his hands tightly together to stop their trembling.

The short, stout figure shifted on the sofa. "Mister Shark," he said, "I trust even you are capable of turning on a light without detailed instructions, hmmm?"

A second, much larger man, unnoticed by Foster until now, stood behind the door. He turned on the overhead lights. Foster glanced at him for only a second. The second man was enormous. He stood well over six feet tall and weighed better than three hundred fifty pounds. His completely bald head rose like a flesh-covered mound from his massive shoulders which were covered in a black turtle-neck sweater. His features seemed almost tiny in his fleshy face.

It was the other man he was more interested in. Decked out splendidly in a black tuxedo, the man wore a top hat on his head and his hands held an umbrella.

"What do you want, Penguin?" Foster asked.

The man was indeed the Penguin, leader of Gotham City's most powerful and feared organized-crime gang. He smiled at the newsman, pleased. "I merely wished to congratulate you on your splendid performance this morning, Mister Foster. We were most gratified to see you followed your instructions so faithfully."

Dan Foster started to speak, but held his tongue, fearing that his anger might not stay contained within him. He turned instead to the well-stocked bar set against the wall. As he poured himself a drink, he heard to sofa springs move as Penguin's weight was lifted from it.

"I should like a glass of white wine, my friend."

Foster whirled angrily, no longer able to conceal his anger. "I am _not _your friend, Penguin," he spat. "And I don't like you coming into my home, either. Maybe I have to work with you, but I sure as hell don't have to socialize with you. _That _wasn't part of the bargain."

The Penguin waddled calmly up to the bar and took his time choosing an appropriate wine from the selection on the bar. "Perhaps you do not yet completely understand, Mister Foster." He poured half a glass of wine into a brandy snifter, sniffed its delicate bouquet through his oddly-shaped, pointed nose, and turned to look into his host's face. "To begin, we made no bargain. I merely tell you what I expect from you and you make certain it gets done. You do not have any say in any part of what happens, hmmm?"

Foster swallowed hard, unable to hold the short, fat man's steely gaze. The Penguin clucked deep in his throat and sampled the wine, smacking his lips in appreciation. "Delightful," he said.

"Now, Mister Foster, do we understand each other better?"

Foster nodded slowly.

"Excellent, my friend," the crime boss said. "Then I may allow you to speak to your daughter tonight. That would please you, I am sure." The Penguin glanced with a tight smile as the veteran newsman started at the words.

"A-Amy?"

"Indeed, Mister Foster." He snapped his fingers at the man by the door. "Mister Shark!"

The silent man stepped forward and pulled out a cellular phone. He pushed a button and listened for several seconds before handing the phone to Foster, who grasped it with trembling hands.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, baby, it's me. How are you darling?" Foster asked, his voice tight with pent-up emotion. "Are they treating you well, Amy?"

The frightened voice of Foster's sixteen-year-old daughter said, "Yes, Daddy. When can I come home, Daddy?"

Foster squeezed his eyes shut, gripping the small phone so hard his knuckles turned white. It took him several seconds before he could trust his voice to reply to his daughter's plea. "S-soon, baby, I swear to you."

The phone went dead.

Shark took the phone from Foster's hand and returned, unsmiling, to his corner like a dutiful servant.

For long moments Dan Foster stared with flashing, hate-filled eyes at the Penguin. "You ... you ... waddling bird!" he spat. "She's just a baby!"

Penguin laughed and clucked. "Quack, squawk. Nonsense, Mister Foster. Your daughter is sixteen years old, certainly old enough for you to have allowed her to travel unescorted through Europe, and regardless of her age, old enough to be a useful pawn."

Foster ran a hand across his damp forehead. "Europe!" He laughed without humor. "Lord, why'd I ever consent to that damned trip?"

Penguin shrugged and dismissed the subject with a wave of his white gloved hand. "Again, nonsense, my friend. True, her taking the grand tour of the Continent provides a convenient excuse for your daughter's absence, but I assure you, sir, my people would have been able to abduct her regardless of where she was.

"But there is no need for concern, Mister Foster. All you need do to ensure her continued well-being and her eventual return home to the loving bosom of her family is cooperate. If not, I need but utter a single word and ..." Penguin's voice trailed off ominously, leaving no doubt of his sinister intentions. "It is that simple."

Dan Foster's fist clenched and unclenched spasmodically at his sides as he glared at the little man -- this man who had stolen his child from him ... who had stolen his dignity, his self-respect. "How," he said through clenched teeth, the hate fairly choking him, "how in God's name can such scum like you exist?"

The Penguin's bird-like eyes narrowed. He rose slowly from his seat and snapped his fingers. Shark moved to his master's side. The Penguin pointed at the bar next to where Foster stood.

"Watch closely, Foster," the Black Bird of Prey said in a voice so low that the newsman had to strain to her. "We shall do this only once."

Penguin nodded to Shark. The huge henchman faced the solid oak bar, a tight smile on his thick lips. He clenched a single massive fist and raised it over his head. Then, with lightning-fast speed, he brought it down on the polished wood with a thundering crash. Before Dan Foster's eyes, the bar gave way beneath the large man's fist and splintered into a thousand shards.

Suavely shooting his cuffs, Shark turned back to return to his corner.

The Penguin said, "Do not be deceived by our appearances, Foster" All pretense of friendliness was gone from his voice and the newsman stepped back before the verbal onslaught. "And do not think that because I have thus far chosen to deal with you on a Platonic level that I would be adverse to switching to more physical, albeit painful, methods of persuasion. I assure I would not." Penguin returned to the sofa, smiling to himself. His little display of temper and Shark's strength had effectively quieted Foster.

"But if it is necessary for me to remind you of what you are to do, then I shall." Foster was beyond any sort of reply, his will sapped by the criminal mastermind's threats. The Penguin continued: "Foster, for the first time in this city's history, the various heads of the organized-crime families have gathered together with myself as their leader. I do not lie when I say the negotiations leading to this alliance were long and difficult for me and were made at a great personal sacrifice to myself.

"And what, Mister Foster, do you think is the object of this rather unholy alliance?" He leaned forward. "It is to get you, Dan Foster, elected to the office of mayor of Gotham City! Quack, squawk!"

Penguin's eyes shone brightly as he sipped his wine. "It is a brilliant plan," he said warmly. "Brilliant in its sheer simplicity! Imagine, we choose a winning candidate -- a man such as yourself, who cannot lose the election -- and we get him into a position of responsibility over the city's coffers. By the time your first four-year term is up, we will be in complete control over Gotham City, having established a political machine to put the mainstream political crowd to shame.

"And imagine the money, Mister Foster! Imagine the amounts that could be siphoned from the city's treasury, the theft hidden in ledger books to go undiscovered for a decade, at which time my colleagues and myself shall be long gone."

Foster stood stock-still by the shattered bar, his head bowed.

"Come, come, Foster, you have cause for celebration, not sorrow. You are, after all, going to be the next mayor of Gotham City, hmmm?"

"You mean puppet, don't you?"

The man of a thousand umbrellas chuckled and clucked. "Quack, squawk. If you insist, yes. But you have little choice while your daughter is in my hands. Still if your behavior is satisfactory and all goes well by November, your daughter will be returned to you."

The newsman's head snapped up. "Don't taunt me, Penguin," he said. "You know as well as I that you lose your hold over me when I have Amy back here. There'd be nothing to stop me from going to the authorities with what I know."

"Ah, but there _would _be. You see, when you win the election, you and your family will spend the next four years living in the gunsights of trained killers. Were you to step out of line but once, a member of your family would die in a tragic assassination attempt obviously aimed at you. A second wrong step, and the rest of your family, yourself included, would die." Penguin smiled. "But I trust your excellent judgment, my friend.

"Well." Penguin clapped his hands together. "I thank you for your generous hospitality, Mister Foster, but I really must be going. The hour is quite late and I know you must begin your day early, so good night. Mister Shark!"

The Penguin lifted his body from the sofa with remarkable ease. Shark opened the door for his boss and Penguin left the veteran newsman to his own dark thoughts.

Suddenly, Dan Foster felt like a very old man.

****

To be continued ...


	4. Chapter 4

****

BATMAN: GOTHAM CAMPAIGN OF CRIME

By Bruce Wayne

__

Batman created by Bob Kane and Bill Finger

DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.

CHAPTER 4

Edmond Hamilton paced across his spacious office leaving a blue trial of smoke in his wake. The mayor of Gotham City was mad, his teeth clamped around the ragged stump of his cigar as he swore under his breath.

"It's a blamed conspiracy, Gordon!" he raged.

Police Commissioner James W Gordon glanced up from a copy of his daily major-crimes report. "It's no such thing, Mister Mayor."

Hamilton pointed an accusing finger at the television set on a desk in the city hall office of the mayor. "How can you say that?" he practically howled. "Look how that man keeps doing ... _that!"_

He was pointing at the videotaped image of Dan Foster, already campaigning vigorously across the city a week after his surprise announcement. He was shown entering the Board of Elections waving a handful of signed nominating petitions that his busy and eager campaign volunteers had quickly gathered to place his name on the primary ballot.

"That's a damned efficient organization Foster's been able to get together so quickly. Haven't seen anything like that since my days in Chicago," Gordon said.

"Don't I know that, blast it! What I _don't _know -- and would just love to find out -- is: How come I don't have one just like it?" Hamilton thundered. "There're only three days left to file to make the ballot, and mine aren't even signed yet. And I'm the incumbent!"

"It's demographics, Mister Mayor. You know that. Foster is attracting the college kids and young career people to his campaign, the ones who'll work their tails off for their man. You know how the kids latch on to political superstars. And face it, everyone under the age of thirty grew up watching Dan Foster on the television. They've probably seen more of him than their own fathers."

Hamilton spat out the remains of his cheap cigar and lighted another almost immediately as he reached for the telephone on a cluttered desk nearby. "Walters!" he barked into the receiver. "I want your ass up here, pronto!" He slammed down the receiver and turned back to Commissioner Gordon.

"I don't care _who_ Foster is, Gordon," he growled. "All I care about is how I'm going to beat him in this blamed primary."

"Money," the police commissioner said thoughtfully. "You need money for a media blitz."

"Bah! Everybody in this city's too tight with their money."

"Not with Foster. His campaign's been bringing in a lot of high-powered moneymen."

Hamilton glowered at Jim Gordon. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"

"Yours, Mister Mayor. I like my job," he chuckled.

"Well, then sound like it, blast it! But, anyway, you're right, Gordon. I need money! That's why I've invited Bruce Wayne to come down here and I'll see if I can if I can con -- I mean -- persuade Wayne to contribute to my campaign. When it comes to high-powered moneymen in this city ... he's the biggest."

"Wayne generally stays out of politics, Mister Mayor."

"Ha! It's time he got _into _politics! Maybe I can convince him to hold a fundraiser at that mansion of his."

Bruce Wayne stepped off the elevator into the city hall office of Mayor Edmond Hamilton. Harried-looking men and women, most of them in their forties and fifties, it seemed, hurried every which way across the suite of offices on the floor, their arms loaded with reports and paperwork that seemed to the office employees to actually grow and multiply in the dark of their desk drawers.

It was painfully obvious to Bruce that Hamilton was a slave-driver when it came to his employees.

He was escorted into the office of the mayor and spotted the candidate at a desk in the center of the room. As Hamilton talked to Commissioner Gordon, he sent up smoke signals from his cigar. Bruce figured it was an S.O.S.

"What this campaign needs, Gordon," Hamilton was saying as Bruce approached, "is something big! Something really spectacular that'll grab the voters!"

The mayor's eyes moved to the richest man in Gotham City. "Bruce! Bruce, old friend! Come in! Come in! So glad you make it! You know Commissioner Gordon, don't you?"

Bruce Wayne smiled. "The commissioner and I go way back, Mister Mayor." He shook the mayor's hand and then Gordon's.

"Good to see you again, Bruce," Gordon said in greeting.

"Mister Mayor," Bruce said, "I heard what you were saying and I've always believed the way to make friends and influence voters," he grinned, "is you've got to put on that big beautiful smile of yours ... you know, the one that shows off your dimples ... and stick out your hand and say 'Hi, my name is --"

"Bruce! I'm a professional politician! I've done this before, you realize?"

"Just trying to be helpful."

"Well, Bruce, there is a way you can be _very _helpful ..."

"Campaign going a little slow, Mister Mayor?" Bruce tried to sound sympathetic.

"Nooooo! No! It's going just fine! But we just need a little help to put on media blitz my advisors keep telling me we need to put on.

"Maybe you ought to get yourself a new campaign manager," Bruce advised.

Hamilton plucked the soggy cigar from his mouth and glared at Bruce as Gordon tried to hide his snicker. "_I _am the campaign manager!" he said.

"Oh."

Before Hamilton could reply, Bob Walters, a young lower campaign staffer trotted up to the desk. "You wanted to see me, boss?"

"How many times do I have to tell you, Walters, don't call me ..."

"Sorry, Mister Mayor."

"That's better! Now, what's the story on my petitions? I gave them to you a week ago to get the necessary signatures."

"Err ... Umm .. I'm working on it, Mister Mayor."

Hamilton narrowed his eyes at the fidgety young man. "Define 'working on it,' Walters!"

"Well, err ... I've got, umm ... most of the signatures, sir. They ought to be ready any day now."

"Try tomorrow, Walters."

"Sir?"

"I said, I want those petitions -- signed, sealed, and delivered -- on my desk by tomorrow, kid, by three o'clock so I can make the six o'clock news. Is that clear, or do I have to draw pictures for you?"

"I just love watching a dedicated public servant in action," Bruce mumbled.

Walters gulped nervously and hurried away from his boss's desk. "Can't get good help these days," Hamilton called after him.

The mayor looked toward Bruce Wayne again. "Now, where were we? Oh, yes! Bruce, old friend," the mayor placed an arm around Bruce's shoulder. Bruce turned his head to look at the hand. "... I was hoping I could call on your good citizenship as a member of this great community and ask you for a small contribution to my campaign fund."

"Well, Mister Mayor, as you may well know, I rarely get involved in Gotham City politics. It's been a longstanding policy of mine to remain neutral politically. But I've been considering getting involved in some small way this time around."

A big smile crossed Hamilton's face. "Splendid! Splendid! I knew I could count ..."

"Oh, I haven't made up my mind quite yet on who I might support. I was just on my way over to Foster's press conference to get his take on his position of some issues."

Hamilton's face dropped.

"Press conference?"

"Yes, Your Honor. He's holding a rather large one at his headquarters down the street in the Gotham Plaza Hotel in ..." Bruce checked his watch. "... fifteen minutes."

Hamilton began to hurriedly pull on his jacket and straighten his tie. "Is that so?!" he said. "We've got to get over to the Gotham Plaza!"

"We? You want to go to your opponent's press conference?"

"Yes!" Hamilton growled as he grabbed Bruce's arm and dragged him to the door. You don't think I'm going to let Foster grab _all_ the time on tonight's news, do you? C'mon! I want you and all the voters to make an informed decision!"

Bruce was helpless. He shrugged at Commissioner Gordon as he was pulled roughly into the elevator.

^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^^

"My former colleagues of the press --" Dan Foster smiled down at the assemblage of newsmen and women seated before him in the Gotham Plaza's grand ballroom. "I think we can begin."

Immediately, several dozen hands shot up, vying for the candidate's attention. "Mister Jordan," he said, pointing to the heavyset columnist from the _Gotham Daily News._

"Nice choice, Dan," Jordan said, a smile spread across his round face. "We were all betting your first question would come from a TV reporter."

Foster laughed easily with the rest of the room and leaned comfortably on the podium. "No longer, Bob," he chuckled. "Now that I'm a candidate instead of a newsman, all my television chauvinism has mysteriously disappeared. These days, I love _all _reporters."

The assembled reporters were still laughing as Mayor Edmond Hamilton pushed his way through the crowd, a hapless Bruce Wayne still in tow. "Listen to these clowns," Hamilton muttered. "This is supposed to be a press conference, not a stand up comedy routine! What're they laughing at?"

"It's called a sense of humor, Mister Mayor," Bruce said.

Hamilton looked at the billionaire as though he didn't quite understand the meaning of the reply.

"That's the main issue," Foster was saying in reply to a question. "I don't think the people of Gotham City are going to put up with police inefficiency any longer. And, frankly, I don't think they should have to."

"Will you listen to that blowhard?" Hamilton muttered as he pushed through the crowd of cameramen around the foot of the dais before Foster. Finally, only the newsman from the local ABC station stood in his way, and, pushing him roughly aside, Hamilton pulled himself up onto the stage.

"Mister Foster," he thundered.

Dan Foster turned, a frown creasing his forehead. But years of live television reporting had taught him to immediately compensate for any on-camera surprises and to proceed as if they were the most natural thing in the world. Even if the surprise was unpleasant.

Like Mayor Edmond Hamilton.

"If it isn't my distinguished opponent, Mayor Hamilton," he said pleasantly. "It's an honor to have you sit in on ..."

"Awww, can the phony Mister Nice Guy routine, Foster," Hamilton said as he strode up to the microphones. "I'm here to talk issues."

__

"So am I!"

The voice thundered from the rear of the ballroom, causing every head to turn as one, searching for the speaker. And what they saw made them all gape in shock.

For streaking down the aisle toward the dais was the familiar dark, gray-and-black-clad figure of Batman!

And, before anyone could make a move to intercept him, Batman was clambering onto the dais, his gloved hands outstretched to grab a startled Dan Foster by the lapels of his jacket.

"I'm only going to warn you this one time, Foster," the masked man hissed menacingly. "I don't like you trying to pin that sporting goods store holdup last week on me, and I especially don't like your running for mayor of_ my _city!" He tossed the startled man aside. "Get out of the race, Foster, or next time you'll get hurt bad ... _terminally _bad!"

"Curse you, Batman!" Hamilton yelled as he rushed toward the masked man's side. "What're trying to _do _to me?! Make me look bad?!"

With scarcely a glance at the mayor, Batman shoved Hamilton aside and leaped down from the podium. He ran for the exit through the throng of reporters, all of whom were either too startled or frightened of the Caped Crusader to do anything but snap photographs and roll their video cameras to record the attack.

But nobody was more startled or concerned than billionaire Bruce Wayne, who stared in shock as the Masked Manhunter raced past him.

__

That's interesting.

^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^

Even as the phony Batman disappeared through the exit, the horrified throng of newspeople was surging forward onto the podium to help the dazed candidate, who lay in a crumpled pile on the floor.

All, that is, except Bruce Wayne.

He stood where he was for long, agonizing moments while allowing the crowd to push its way past him. Then, turning suddenly, he sprinted for the same exit the fake Batman had taken.

__

Somebody's obviously trying to set me up for some kind of trouble ... and trouble like that I can live without.

Bruce ran out into the deserted corridor. He looked around quickly, searching for his evil double.

__

There!

To Bruce's right were a pair of double doors that led to a long service corridor running the length of the hotel. They were swinging slightly.

__

Looks like someone took off in an awful hurry through there ... maybe someone like a phony Batman?

He pushed through the doors, coming face to face with a busboy carefully balancing a tray of clean glasses on his shoulder. Bruce glanced down the corridor.

"Did you see anybody come through here just now?"

The busboy nodded.

"A guy in a gray and black costume?"

"A gray and ... _black _costume?"

"Yes, Bat ... forget it! If he was here, you'd noticed him. _Believe _me!"

Bruce turned and raced back into the corridor outside the ballroom.

__

That means my phony friend must've taken the scenic route through the lobby -- scenic for the public, that is. He probably wants the whole world to know that Batman's been on the prowl doing a lot of nasty things this evening.

Without pausing, he grabbed the knob of a utility closet door and ducked inside.

__

Assuming I can still catch up with him, it wouldn't look too good to have Bruce Wayne tackling a fake Batman in the hotel lobby!

Pressing a concealed button on his belt buckle, Bruce quietly spoke into the air. "Alfred?"

"Sir, is that you? I thought I just saw you rushing out of the hotel in your customary evening pajamas."

"That wasn't me! That's a phony Batman trying to smear my reputation even more than it already is."

"My word! The scoundrel just ran past me in front of the hotel."

"I need to change in the limo."

"I'll have all in preparation, sir."

Bruce quickly exited the utility closet and then left through the lobby of the hotel. He noticed that people were buzzing, relating about how they had seen Batman fleeing the hotel.

Alfred was dutifully holding the rear passenger compartment door of the limousine open as he approached. He got in and opened a concealed compartment located under the rear seat the vehicle.

Alfred got in the driver's seat and put the automobile in motion. 

"Drive around the block and keep your eyes open for that other Batman," Bruce instructed.

It didn't take long for Bruce to change into the _real _Dark Knight of Gotham City. 

As the limousine passed slowly in front of the hotel, Batman quickly opened the door of the limousine and rolled out onto the street. Alfred kept going. It all happened so quickly, no one was able to tell where the Masked Avenger had appeared from.

On the sidewalk, a Texas oilman from Austin gaped in undisguised awe at the dark figure appearing in the street. "Gawddarn!" he whooped happily to his wife. "Gotham City's mah kind o'town, Mother! This here city's got itself _two _Batmen!"

__

Which I guess is this citizen's way of telling me he has recently seen my counterpart!

Batman leaped over a cart loaded with luggage at the curb and looked in both directions.

__

Someone in a Batman suit couldn't have gotten far without being spotted by someone, even in Gotham City. I mean, look how much attention I'm getting, and I'm the real thing.

But before the Gotham Goliath could clear the front of the building that was under an awning of the hotel, a blue and white police car, its siren blaring, screeched to a halt at the curb. Before the car came to a full stop, a cop was jumping from the opened door, his service weapon in his hand, aimed straight at Batman's heart.

__

I don't have time for this!

^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^

It was pitch-black.

Seven men, each with the over-developed physique of professional wrestlers and weight-lifters, cautiously entered the darkened warehouse in single file.

All were identically clad in black sweatpants and tanktops. 

All were identically armed with long steel knives.

They glided silently across the cold concrete floor in their bare feet, knives clutched in the manner of professionals.

As one, they stopped dead in their tracks, their ears straining in the darkness for the source of that almost inaudible noise. There was nothing ...Wait! A slight disturbance in the air, as if someone moved ever so stealthily through the darkness. The brown-haired man in the lead squinted as his searching eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light. He never saw the massive sledgehammer fist that sent him flying into the black pit of unconsciousness.

But the others did, and, their prey now located, they swiftly circled him, with their blades held at the ready. They moved on the balls of their feet, feinting with their knives held out before them, drawing closer to the figure at their center, ready to slice him to --

There was nobody there.

In surprise, the burly men scattered, no longer bothering to mask their movements in silence. Their eyes had adjusted to the dimness now, and vague, dark shapes were discernible about them in the large room, shapes made deceptive in the inky blackness.

And then the lights went on.

They squeezed their eyes shut against the sudden glare, but still they stood ready, their ears compensating for what they could not see. The real battle was about to begin.

"Quack, squawk. Begin, gentlemen."

The strongmen were scattered about the perimeter of the warehouse and they whirled quickly to face the center of the room and the massive mountain who stood there -- Shark.

Safely off to the side of the room was the master criminal known as the Penguin, who intended to watch the exercise.

The Penguin's henchman, Shark, stood like a statue of flesh, a wry smile spread across his lips as he glanced at each man in turn. He wore a pair of sweatpants, his naked barrel of a torso gleaming in the light, his feet bare and thick, powerful arms swinging loosely by his sides. He was unarmed. He moved like a ballet dancer on his toes, yet his seemingly fleshy body was solid, but a hint of the well-developed muscles beneath his pale skin.

The Penguin clucked deep in his chest and blew out a puff of smoke. "Too bad, gentlemen. Your clever move, alas, failed to catch Mister Shark by surprise."

Several of the burly men, smiles on their cruel lips advanced on Shark with blades held high. The Penguin's bodyguard/henchman watched with apparent boredom as they formed a semicircle in front of him, the overhead lights glinting off the flashing knives.

Shark was almost a blur as he stepped forward and reached for the first man's throat with his fleshy fists. He grabbed the man by neck and crotch, lifting him over his head like a child's rag doll. The man's knife dropped from limp fingers as the huge man heaved him at the onrushing musclemen. He plowed like so much dead weight into three of his companions, sending them sprawling.

"He's had it now!" one of them growled.

"Has he?" replied the Penguin from across the room.

Shark leaped forward, pivoting on his left leg as he drove his right foot in a perfectly executed savate kick into the speaker's chest. Before the man could topple to the ground, Shark's right hand snaked out and gathered his T-shirt, yanking the thug upright.

"You see, my friend, your first mistake was thinking Mister Shark was merely another muscle-bound oaf," the Penguin said.

Shark's left hand was a blur as it slapped back and forth across the man's face a dozen times. The man was unconscious before Shark let him drop to the floor.

"Your second mistake was verbalizing that thought. Quack, squawk!"

Shark did not wait for another attack. Rather, he took the initiative and sprang into the center of the cluster of strongmen. Without any apparent attempt at aiming his blows, the Penguin's henchman flailed his mighty fists about, striking at random.

The Penguin continued talking to the man. "It was people like you who ridiculed me when I was a boy!" A muscleman went sailing limply through the air. "I _was_ nothing more than a freak then, a disgusting, obese specimen of America's youth." 

Shark's fist ended another thug's participation in the fight.

"Bird brain they called me. 'Look at bird brain waddle!' Oh, I suffered those taunts, for there was nothing I could do against my bigger, stronger tormentors."

An explosion of air from startled lungs announced the finish of a third man.

The Penguin's voice droned on with his life story. "But that was then! As I grew older and wiser, I began to realize my true potential and I became what they called a criminal mastermind. I made it my deliberate intention to strike back against a cruel society. Make fun of me, would they? I would become the most powerful and feared man in all of Gotham City!"

A casual backhanded sweep of Shark's hamhock fist drove two men back.

"And _I _endured!" the Penguin said. "But still I was looked upon as a freak, a man out of place in normal society. So, I decided that if I was not wanted by them, I would join the company of other outcasts, the criminal element so prevalent in any big city."

Another man cried out as Shark's elbow crushed his nose.

"But I was smarter than any of them, and soon I rose to the top of organized crime in Gotham, never fearing to use either brain or -- as you are finding out as I speak -- brawn against any who stood in my way!"

But there was none to hear those final words, for all were lying unconscious or too engrossed in their own pains to pay heed. The Penguin waddled closer to stand among Shark's victims, his tiny eyes -- one of which was looking through a monocle -- were gleaming with pleasure.

"Quack, squawk! Excellent, Mister Shark!" he roared clapping his hands together. "That was most invigorating to watch you workout. As for you gentlemen on the floor, you may pick up your payment from my man Octopus on your way out."

He turned, starting to leave the carnage Shark had wrought. Chuckling and clucking to himself, he glanced over his shoulder. "That is, when you have all regained consciousness."

Without warning, a sudden weight landed squarely on Shark's broad back. It upset his balance, and even as he righted himself, his hand reached back, groping. Thick, powerful fingers struggled to find a hold under Shark's fleshy chin. The henchman grunted and stepped back abruptly, shifting his great weight to his other leg and flipping the weight on his back over his shoulder. Shark's attacker was a Japanese Sumo wrestler, a yellow giant who weighed even more than the Penguin's bodyguard. The size and strength of the sumo wrestler was incredible. He thudded to the floor, a pained grunt the only sound he made.

The Penguin's face brightened at the sight of this new challenger. The sumo scrambled to his feet and crouched low in the traditional style of his ancient craft, stalking his victim in short, sliding steps. Shark feinted right, faking out his opponent and charging in under the Japanese's outstretched arms. His balled fists slammed hard into the other's muscular stomach just before he brought his elbow down on the Oriental's exposed neck.

This time, however, he did not allow the sumo to recover as he moved in immediately for the kill. He grasped the Oriental's arm just above the elbow and yanked it sharply toward him as he brought his foot down on the back of the fallen man's neck. A sharp, brittle crack accompanied the breaking of the sumo wrestler's right arm. The Japanese was mercifully unconscious.

Smiling smugly with a cigarette holder clenched between his teeth, the Penguin sauntered through the tangle of bodies strewn about the cold floor. Shark could hear his boss' customary "Quack, squawk" as he left the room.

^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^

"_We_ don't like to be kept waiting, Penguin!"

The speaker was a tall man with a terrible face that was topped with a full head of two-tone colored hair. One side was brown and the other side was gray. He sat facing the little man over steepled fingertips at the far end of a long conference table. Penguin pulled out his own seat at the opposite end of the table in the oaken-paneled room and silently regarded the strange-looking man across from him, one of seven men seated around the table.

He was Two-Face, head of the second most powerful criminal organization in Gotham City. For years, his gang had fought bitterly against that of the Penguin for control of the city's illegal activities, ranging from gambling to the multi-billion dollar drug trade. Both organizations had established strong footholds in various areas and had only recently come to an uneasy peace.

To Two-Face's left sat Roman "Black Mask" Sionis, the heir to the Janus Cosmetics empire, who had a bizarre fascination with masks. It was a fixation that resulted in financial ruin when his company marketed a line of ill-conceived, toxic "Facepaint." When WayneCorp bailed out of the floundering company, Sionis resigned in humiliation. Later, he carved a death-mask from the lid of his late father's coffin and established a gang of masquerading thugs with Sionis as its "Black Mask" figurehead. 

Sionis was a big man, who was dapperly dressed. His dull black eyes, behind the mask, showed him to be a cold, calculating animal that had helped him climb to his current high rank in the city's criminal elite.

Next to him, Ariel Shonstein from Gotham's Amusement Mile district on the city's far northeast side. He sat brooding at the blank notepad on the table before him. Unlike the others who sat at the table, the eighty-seven-year-old Shonstein was seated in a wheelchair. He had inherited his territory from then Godfather Vito Battaglia, he had gained control of virtually all criminal activity in his home territory.

Beside the aged Shonstein sat Eddie Skeevers, the man who controlled the eastern portion of the northern island of Gotham City. Skeevers was a tall, black man who had a ruthless reputation.

Across from Skeevers sat the black man's counterpart for the western portion of the northern island of Gotham City, Antonio Castro. Castro was a reputed killer who liked to cut out the tongues of his victims. It was his trademark.

To Castro's right sat the small, slim master of the Chinatown criminal district, Mister Yu. Since the seventies, he had held the valuable territory despite constant opposition from the area's many youth gangs. A vast majority of the gambling dens and houses specializing in the more popular Oriental opiates made many millions of dollars a year for this comparatively small criminal empire.

And finally, Jose Martinez sat in the sixth seat along the table's sides. Martinez was the newest member of this criminal combine having only the month before assumed control of a large stretch of the lucrative middle island of the city by assassinating the area's former boss. The large Spanish man felt he deserved his spot on the board. He had personally killed the old boss on Kane Avenue at the height of the noon lunch rush.

Two-Face straightened in his seat. "I said, Penguin, _we _don't like to be kept waiting. This meeting was scheduled to begin half an hour ago!"

"I was detained." The Penguin explained to no man.

"We're all busy men," Two-Face said evenly. "We don't have the time to waste sitting around waiting ..."

"He is here, Two-Face," Ariel Shonstein said. "And the purpose of this meeting isn't to discuss our colleague's punctuality."

Eddie Skeevers nodded in agreement. "Yeah, man. If ya don't like it, buy the man a gold watch for his birthday. Otherwise, let's get _on _with it."

Two-Face sat back and glared across the long table at the Penguin. His time would come.

Penguin merely smiled thinly at Harvey Dent. "It has been exactly one week since Mister Foster announced his intentions to seek his party's nomination. From all reports I have received, everything is proceeding smoothly and as per plans."

"What about da mayor?" Castro said.

Penguin dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "Granted, he is the incumbent in the race, I do not foresee this posing any difficulties. His organization is weak, at best, and the early polls show he is running behind Foster."

Jose Martinez shook his head. "I don't know about that, Penguin. As you know, I spend a good deal of time among the common people of the city, and frankly, many of them are happy with the status quo. Many are slowly becoming interested in Hamilton's tax-cut proposals." The criminal grinned. "Hell, if I didn't stand to make so much loot off Foster winning, I'd almost be convinced myself to give the old goat four more years in city hall. His ideas _could _save a lot of money for rich folks, like me."

"Quack, squawk! You actually pay taxes, Mister Martinez? You need a new accountant!"

Laughter was heard in the room.

"Gentlemen, please," Penguin interrupted. "As I recall, when we first embarked upon this endeavor, we were unanimously agreed that Dan Foster was the perfect, unbeatable candidate. Merely because he is running against the incumbent does not change that, hmmm?"

Two-Face said, "You talk a lot about how you've planned this operation down to the smallest detail, how nothing can possibly go wrong." The disfigured man did not bother to disguise his hatred for the Penguin. "And we've accepted your word, Penguin -- on everything! We've put up three million dollars a piece to get in on this ... and all on your word alone!

"Now, maybe this _will _work, Penguin, and maybe we all stand to make a hell of lot more than three million. But dammit, man, when are you going to let the rest of us in on this brilliant scheme of yours? As equal partners, _we _think we deserve to be told _everything!"_

Penguin leaned forward and rested his clasped hands on the polished tabletop. "Dent," he said, "you agreed long ago, with the rest of these gentlemen, that should we go forth with my plan, _I _was to be in control. _Total _control. And all I ask from you in return for being made part of this is your money and cooperation. If you do not intend to give me both, I shall gladly return your stake money to you and you will be free to leave." Penguin spoke softly, but none of the men seated around the table missed the harsh, menacing tone in the Black Bird of Prey's voice.

Two-Face stood and leaned his tightly clenched fists on the table. An uglier look crossed his ugly face. "Damn you, Penguin!" he hissed through clenched teeth. "Who do you think you are? Do you think you're the only high-caliber criminal in the city? You forget, _we,_ too, have had to fight Batman to retain my territory!"

"And lost."

Harvey Dent's clenched fist rose and slammed onto the table. "What about _you?_ _We_ don't recall ever hearing of a Penguin victory in _any _of your many battles with the blasted Caped Crusader."

The little man in the tuxedo started to rise to his feet, his eyes on Two-Face.

But before either man could say anything further, Mister Yu spoke up. "Gentlemen," he said.

The small Chinaman rose and looked quickly to either end of the table. "Gentlemen," he repeated softly, "we accomplish nothing by bickering amongst ourselves. Please take your seats and let us reason together like friends." Mister Yu remained standing until the two rival criminal bosses sat. Then, taking his own seat, he continued, turning first to Harvey Dent. "As Penguin says, Two-Face, you agreed to his terms long ago, as have we all. The operation is already in progress, and matters proceed smoothly and according to plan."

Turning to the other end of the table, Yu said, "And I am sure, my friend, that they shall _continue _to run as they have. I have great faith in your ability, Penguin."

Penguin nodded his head in Yu's direction, but his beady, little eyes remained fixed on the man seated across from him. "Thank you, Mister Yu," he said. "Now, if there is nothing else ...?"

Dent's chair scraped noisily across the floor as he pushed it back and stood.

"Just this one thing, Penguin -- if this doesn't work, you can be sure you're finished in this city!" The tall man in a suit that was gray on one side and blue on the other strode to the door, stopping as he reached for the knob. "Finished for _good, _Penguin!"

He yanked open the door and disappeared down the hall.

Penguin's eyes narrowed at the retreating man's back. "I shall not fail."

__

Shall I?

****

To be continued ...

Please visit my website at: 


	5. Chapter 5

****

BATMAN: GOTHAM CAMPAIGN OF CRIME

By Bruce Wayne

__

Batman created by Bob Kane and Bill Finger

DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.

CHAPTER 5

"Stay just as you are, Batman! Don't move! Don't even breathe hard!"

As he stared down into the barrel of Patrolman Nate Adams' Glock semi-automatic, the Caped Crusader felt no compulsion to disobey that order. He stood stock-still under the Gotham Plaza Hotel's awning and slowly raised his hands above his head. "Okay, officer. Let's be careful with that gun, now."

Adams kept his aim steady as he slowly stepped toward Batman. Behind him he could hear his partner radioing for assistance. That was fine with him. Purse-snatchers and flashers he could handle. He wasn't sure about super-criminals, nor was he particularly anxious to find out.

"Everything will be cool if you just keep your hands right where they are," Adams said, trying to keep his voice sounding official.

Batman shrugged. "That's where they belong," he said, "right there at the ends of my arms."

__

Well, so long, phony Batman! But then, considering I'm standing here with a nervous policeman pointing a gun in my direction, that's probably the least of my worries.

Batman asked the officer, "Is this going to take long? I've got another appointment at ..."

Officer Adams' gun wavered slightly. _Jeez, _he thought, _I wish the back-up units would get here! _Batman's staring eyes made the patrolman nervous. Those white lenses seemed to look right through him, reading his very thoughts. Nor did he like the Dark Knight's light, snappy tone. Hell, the guy wasn't bulletproof, was he? Why didn't a gun, in the hands of a trained professional, intimidate him?

__

That's the ticket, Mister Policeman! Keep your eyes on my face. 

Batman could hear the sounds of approaching police cars as he moved imperceptibly closer to the officer. Moving so slow to get into the proper position that he would need to effect his escape. The nervous cop never saw Batman moving closer to him, even though his eyes never left the Masked Manhunter!

Suddenly, Batman whirled his body on the balls of his right foot and kicked out with his left at the gun of the patrolman.

"Well, I have to be going now, officer."

Adams was confused. "Huh?" he said as his gun went flying out of his hands.

Batman's hand went to his utility belt and quickly pulled out his grapnel. He shot the strand of wire straight up into the facade of the hotel. The Masked Avenger of Gotham City then pressed another button and he began to rise with great speed into the air.

__

Pii-ting!

A ricocheting bullet sprayed chips of concrete into the Caped Crusader's face. He glanced quickly over his shoulder and saw Adams' partner standing in the middle of the street, realigning his gun for a second shot.

__

I don't remember signing on as a target for the GCPD.

Batman stopped on a ledge and reached to his utility belt once again. This time, he pulled out a green pellet and threw it down toward the armed law enforcement officer.

__

Let's see if a little tear gas affects your aim.

When the pellet hit the street, it exploded into a cloud of choking gas. The effect of the chemical immediately caused the second officer to begin coughing and his eyes began to tear.

Aiming his grapnel at a building across and down the street from where he was, Batman pressed the button again and soon was swinging his way back in pursuit of his phony counterpart.

__

I hope those cops will think twice before shooting at me again.

^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^

Commissioner Gordon handed a sheaf of freshly signed papers to his secretary, never bothering to look up from the desk in his office at Gotham City Police Headquarters. The secretary dropped a manila folder on his desk. The folder was filled with photographs that were taken at Dan Foster's press conference at the Gotham Plaza Hotel. 

A half hour earlier, Gordon had received a phone call from an irate Mayor Edmond Hamilton about the Batman attack at the Gotham Plaza. The commissioner told the mayor that he would look into what had occurred. 

Gordon began looking through the file of a dozen photographs or so that were in the folder.

The door to his office opened and a big hulk of a poorly dressed man walked into the office. "You called for me, Commish?"

"Yes, yes, Bullock. You hear about what happened at the Gotham Plaza?"

"Yeah. I've been tellin' ya that Bat-Creep would go over the edge sooner or later. They say he threatened Foster if he didn't get out of the mayor's race."

"So, you really think it was Batman, huh, Bullock?"

A quizzical look came over Lt Harvey Bullock's face. He took a bite out of the powdered donut he held in his big paw and thought about the question. "Yeah. The way I figure it, anybody who goes tromping through the city wearing a goofy costume probably has a screw loose and is capable of doin' anything weird."

Gordon smiled and handed Bullock the photographs that he had received. Bullock frowned because he felt the commissioner was setting him up to look like a big fool again.

The commissioner informed his detective, "I say the Batman who attacked Foster is a phony."

"A phony, Commish? Are ya sure?"

"The proof is in the pictures."

Bullock started to go through the photos one by one. He stuck the rest of his donut in his mouth and wiped the white powder on his fingers on his brown sport jacket.

"Believe me, Bullock," the commissioner continued, "that guy at the Gotham Plaza was a phony."

Bullock looked at the pictures as carefully as he could. He walked to the side of the room where there was a small conference table. The detective arranged the pictures in sequence on the table, with Gordon leaning over his shoulder, watching.

The Commissioner pointed to the first picture. "See? This guy came running into the ballroom and then, instead of just leaping up onto the dais like the real Batman would, he has to schlep himself up. That's clue number one."

His finger moved along to a close-up of the fake Batman holding Foster by the lapels. "Clue number two, here! Look real closely at this Batman's costume, Bullock. Notice anything?"

Harvey Bullock leaned forward and scrutinized the photograph. He followed Gordon's finger, squinting at the costumed figure. The commissioner was right! There was something amiss with the familiar costume and mask. It seemed rather loose on the figure and the white lenses on the mask were definitely the wrong shape.

"Yeah," the detective agreed. "Yeah, I see what ya mean."

"Nodding, Commissioner Gordon pulled out an old photo from a shelf and handed it to Bullock. It was a shot of Batman facing the camera in a dark, littered alley. "Here's a picture of Batman a couple of months ago. This is the real one. Compare the two and tell me if you don't see a difference."

Silently the detective compared, squinting first at one picture and then the other. He reluctantly nodded. "I'm inclined to agree with ya, Commish. After all, you _are_ the department's resident Batman expert."

"Well, I have known him for a quite a few years and I think I can tell the man's moves well enough to know him when I see him. And _that"_ he said, stabbing a finger at the fake Batman, _"isn't _the genuine article."

Bullock began collating the photos back into a single pile and placed them back into the manila folder. He handed the folder back to the commissioner.

"I guess you're right, Commish," the big detective said in a disappointed tone.

Gordon nodded. "Okay, hit the streets and keep your eyes open. Shake the trees and see what falls out. We need to get this phony Batman off our streets -- he's a menace."

"Like the real one _ain't _already a menace?"

"Go!"

"Okay, okay."

^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^

The Penguin was tired.

For long minutes after the seven crime bosses had departed, he sat in the soft, comfortable darkness of his office. He reclined in a large easy chair, trying to shut off his thoughts. But it was hard. There was so much riding on this ... so much more than the other participants in the operation could possibly conceive. 

Except, perhaps, Two-Face.

He could be a problem. No, he _was _a problem. Harvey Dent had a suspicious mind and he was a brilliant criminal. If there was any one cog that could bring the vast machinery Penguin had set into motion to a grinding halt it was Two-Face.

And the Penguin did not like to take chances.

Indeed, he could not afford to. Not this time.

A ringing phone jarred him away from his inner thoughts.

"Quack, squawk! Yes?"

On the other end of the line came a sultry voice. "Hello, Oswald."

The Penguin's eyes snapped open as he sat up straighter in his chair. "Selina? What a pleasant surprise. How nice to hear from the delectable Catwoman."

"You are such a flatterer, Oswald. How are things?"

As she spoke, the Penguin's mind conjured up an image of the beautiful Selina Kyle in his mind.

"Splendid, Selina, my dear, just splendid! Tell me, are you still seeing that cad Bruce Wayne?"

Her voice changed only slightly and contained just a wisp of exasperation. "Yes. Don't you read the papers? We're an item!" She laughed at her small joke.

"Is your call business or pleasure, my dear?"

"Actually, a little of both, Oswald. I was wondering if I could meet you for dinner tomorrow night?"

""Quack, squawk! It would be a distinct honor to be in your company, Selina! Perhaps, afterward, we could ..."

"Just dinner, Oswald!" she interrupted.

"Of course, my dear. How does the Rainbow Grill in the Saturn Building sound?"

"It sounds fine. Around 8:30 alright with you?"

"Of course, Selina. I look forward to seeing you. Good-bye."

The Penguin hung up the phone. He wondered what Catwoman was up to. It was not like her to call him to have dinner unless there was something she wanted. He decided he could only concentrate on one thing at a time at this moment. He'd figure out what Selina wanted in due time.

But before that happened, he had to figure out how Two-Face was going to die!

****

To be continued ...

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	6. Chapter 6

****

BATMAN: GOTHAM CAMPAIGN OF CRIME

By Bruce Wayne

__

Batman created by Bob Kane and Bill Finger

DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.

CHAPTER 6

Candidate Dan Foster was flanked by a trio of attentive plainclothes policemen. He smiled broadly and waved to the throng of supporters who had come to see and hear him speak at the outdoor William Finger Center in the City Hall District of Gotham City. Hundreds of people from all around the city came for the opportunity to catch a glimpse of Gotham's premier broadcaster who was running for mayor. Their cheers and applause for the man filled the early evening air.

Scattered throughout the crowd, attempting to appear inconspicuous were alert security men from both city and private agencies, scanning the area for the slightest hint of danger.

From a perch high above the plaza, Batman eyed the crowd through a pair of Bat-binoculars. He could clearly see that security was very tight.

__

They took the phony Batman's threat seriously, I suppose.

Batman continued to look through the high-powered binoculars, searching through the sea of faces gathered for the rally.

__

Somebody's out to force Foster out of the race and discredit me in the process. Whoever was under that mask went through too much hassle and risk for a hoax, and I bet that he'll be back. Only this time, I'm waiting for him.

The candidate mounted the steps to the speaker's platform, his clenched fist thrust high over his head in a sign of victory to the people. He strode confidently across the platform, pausing only momentarily to shake hands with the local city politicians seated there before stepping up to the microphone.

The crowd continued its roar of approval for several minutes more before it was quiet enough for Foster to speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen of Gotham City," Dan Foster began, his amplified voice booming across the plaza, "in just a few short weeks, you will be going to the polls to vote in this year's mayoral primary for the candidate of your choice. Now, I could make you a lot of promises here today" -- he smiled warmly into the television cameras -- "but I won't. I think you all know me and I think you all know that in my over twenty years as a broadcaster in this great city, it's problems and the problems of its people have been of the utmost concern to me. As your mayor, I can finally be in a position where I won't just _tell_ you the news, but help make it, instead!"

Foster paused as the crowd voiced its approval.

From high above the plaza, Batman could hear the applause and cheers.

"YOU WERE WARNED, FOSTER!"

Dan Foster whirled suddenly on the platform, his smile changing quickly to an open-mouthed expression of horror as he faced the speaker of those words. The costumed figure was running toward the rear of the platform, the blank lenses of his eyes seemed to be flashing as they fixed on the candidate.

"BATMAN?!"

The gray-and-black-clad figure clubbed a surprise police officer out of his path, tossing the limp, unconscious man at a group of onrushing security men. They caught the thrown body, the impact sending several thudding against the ground as they tried to support the man's dead weight. Then, without breaking stride, the phony Batman leaped onto the speaker's platform before Foster, clutching at red, white, and blue bunting for support.

"That's right, old man!" the masked figure growled. "I told you I'd be back if you didn't drop out of this race!"

Foster took a step back, but the phony Batman's gloved hand streaked out, grasping the candidate by his tie and yanking the frightened man sharply toward him, nearly choking him in the process. "And this time, Foster," he hissed, "you're going to die!"

Several hundred feet beyond and above the now chaotic plaza, the real Batman watched the scene from his perch on the roof of the Gotham Times Building. He reached to his utility belt and pulled out his trusty grapnel and aimed it at the building behind Foster and his own evil twin.

__

Twip!

In seconds, the Caped Crusader was arcing through the air, high over the heads of the stunned, silent crowd. Nobody took any notice of him, though. They all thought Batman was already there!

Plainclothes officer Will Marten, his service weapon in his hand, edged his way cautiously around the platform, moving ever so slowly to the masked intruder's blind side. Then he raised his gun, sighting in on the black cape on the costumed man's back. If only he could get off one shot ...

The gun flew out of his hand even as the his finger tightened on the trigger. His hand began to hurt from where it sustained an expert kick from ...

"Another Batman?!"

The Dark Knight eyed the gun on the ground with disgust.

__

Damned fool could've killed Foster a lot faster with that thing than my fake friend could with his hands. How come the police in this town all think with their guns?

The Masked Manhunter moved silently behind his double, who still clutched the struggling Foster in his hands, slowly twisting the very life from his throat.

"Excuse me," the real Batman said. "I hate to cut in on your dance like this, but I just _had _to find out who makes that costume for you."

The other man turned, dropping Foster. "Who ...?"

"ME!"

Batman lunged forward, grasping a handful of spandex costume in his fist as he swung his double around, lifting the man off the floor. The crowd gasped and flashbulbs began bursting all around them, but Batman's attention was on the squirming man he held suspended in the air.

"Truth to tell, you phony," the Gotham Goliath said through clenched teeth, "you're not much of a Batman. But -- and I can't emphasize this too strongly -- if you don't say the right things to me when I start asking questions, you're going to be even _less _of one! Do you understand?"

"The boss told me I might be running into you, freak!" the other man answered. "I'm ready for you!"

"You _really _think so, punk?"

__

"Really!"

With that, the phony Batman brought his hand up and shoved it toward his captor's face. In his hand was a rubber device that resembled a skull and apparently had a small nozzle that sprayed a cloud of yellow, noxious-smelling gas into the Caped Crusader's face even as his captive kicked a booted foot into his stomach.

Batman doubled over, sucking in a deep breath.

__

Blast! Didn't have time to hold my breath ... not that it would've done much good after getting booted in the gut!

The other man wrenched free of Batman's grip, jumping back several yards to stay out of his reach. Batman straightened, glaring at the mirror-image standing before him.

__

Strange ... there must be a reason he gassed me, but damn if I can figure it out! That stuff may smell worse than the sewers on a hot day, but it doesn't seem to have affected me! Well, that's his problem! At least it will be when I get my hands on him again!

Once more, Batman lunged at his opponent, but this time the other sidestepped nimbly, avoiding the Dark Knight's grasp. Then he stepped in swiftly under Batman's fists and landed a blow on the real hero's chin. Batman's head snapped back and he staggered slightly, shaking his head to clear his thoughts.

__

Whew! Phony, here, is a lot faster and stronger than I thought. 

A uniformed policeman raced with several others onto the speaker's platform, surrounding the still-dazed Dan Foster with a circle of blue uniforms. His partner stood beside him, watching the struggle between the two Batmen with a puzzled expression on his face. He gestured helplessly with his handgun. "Jeez, Sarge," he whispered to the man next to him, "shouldn't we do _something?"_

"What, O'Malley? We don't even know which one of those guys is which! Forget it, Patrolman. I don't care _what _some cops says about Batman! He's done a hell of a lot to help us over the years, and as far as _I'm _concerned, he's okay!"

But the Masked Manhunter was not okay at that moment. His criminal counterpart landed another blow to his face, sending him reeling backward and through the wooden railing at the front of the speaker's platform. Batman hit the ground with a sickening thud, but was on his feet again in mere seconds.

__

Something is not quite right!

Batman pulled himself back up onto the platform in time to see the other man leap to the ground on the opposite side. With a single, incredible leap calculated to carry him over the platform and onto the back of his fleeing foe, Batman sprang forward ...

... and tumbled awkwardly to the poured-concrete floor, far short of his goal!

__

What's the matter with me?! I'm performing like somebody with two left feet, not to mention two left hands.

He scrambled to his feet, trying to keep his eyes on the darkly garbed figure racing desperately through the crowd.

__

Can't use my Bat-a-rang on him ... too many people in the way!

Instead, he fired his grapnel at the building and launched himself up over the crowd. He swung around to a flight of stairs that led out of the plaza that his double had taken, landing in the on-rushing man's path.

"Remember me, you phony?"

The fake Batman did not even break stride as he hunched down, head lowered like a football player, and barreled into the costumed hero. Batman fell back, landing on his backside with a spine-jarring _plop! _His evil double kept on running past the fallen form, then headed up Schiff Street toward Fifth Avenue. Batman scrambled to his feet and reached to his utility belt once again. This time he pulled out a Bat-Bola. Twirling it quickly in his right hand, he threw the weapon at the fleeing man's legs, entangling them in the thick wire.

__

Crunch!

He went down, cracking his jaw on the pavement, and before he could even look over his shoulder, Batman was on him. The Caped Crusader yanked his double to his feet, pulling back his right fist menacingly.

"Game's over, punk," he said. "You lose."

"NO!"

The fake Batman threw himself backward tearing free once more from the other's grasp. A right cross sent the real Dark Knight tumbling in the opposite direction, dazed and more than a little startled.

__

Dammit!

He shook off the effects of the blow and swung his fist at his opponent, who easily ducked under it. Then the other man straightened suddenly, butting his head into the masked hero's chest.

"Wooof!" The breath exploded from Batman's lungs, and this time it took him several seconds before his vision had cleared sufficiently to resume the chase.

The phony Batman ran across the plaza, crossing in front of a car as it screeched to a stop, narrowly avoiding hitting the darkly clad felon. He glanced but once over his shoulder, making sure the Masked Manhunter was still following him up Schiff Street. The imposter smiled beneath his cowl.

But even as Batman ran, his lungs beginning to ache from the exertion, he knew he was in trouble!

__

That blasted gas ... that's got to be it! Some kind of nerve gas to slow up my reflexes, weaken me enough to even up the odds for that dastardly villain, there!

Batman pushed roughly past a hot-dog vendor's stand being rolled up the street, never taking his eyes from the figure ahead.

__

I can't afford to try and take him one on one ... not pumped full of his toxin!

He watched as the phony Batman ducked into the Saturn Building.

****

To be continued ...

Please visit my Web site at: **groups.yahoo.com/waynemanor/**

__


	7. Chapter 7

****

BATMAN: GOTHAM CAMPAIGN OF CRIME

By Bruce Wayne

__

Batman created by Bob Kane and Bill Finger

DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.

CHAPTER 7

__

Fahtwhoooosh!

A small ball of fire and black smoke exploded mere inches from Batman's eyes as he came charging through the revolving doors that led into the Saturn Building. His double stood in the middle of the rapidly clearing lobby, preparing to throw another small, square object at the Caped Crusader. Batman pulled out his grapnel and fired a line over his head at the ornate ceiling, pushed the button and he rose straight up, over the second exploding object.

He swung himself through the air on the wire, propelling himself to the other side of the lobby. But the fake Batman no longer seemed interested in his opponent as he sprinted for the bank of elevators which led to the uppermost floors of the building. Batman threw a Bat-a-rang at the fleeing figure, but the lightweight, collapsible hinged model just hit harmlessly against the closing elevator doors.

Batman cursed softly under his breath as he ran toward the elevators. He felt his sense of balance being impaired by the mysterious gas that had invaded his nervous system.

Each bank of elevators in the Saturn Building were watched over by a security guard whose job it was to make sure visitors did indeed have appointments on the floors above and that those who did not never made it past the lobby. Tourists and the curious were easy for them to handle. Costumed heroes were not! Thus, the awe-struck guard at this bank of elevators stood open-mouthed and staring as Batman pulled out a "fireman's key" that allowed him to open the elevator doors manually. When the doors opened, he was staring into the dark, empty shaft.

He looked up to watch the elevator car carrying his costumed imitator rising at a high rate of speed. It continued nonstop toward the top of the building. 

Again, reaching for his grapnel, Batman fired a wire at the underside of the ascending elevator car. 

The security guard gasped as the caped figure began to rise in the elevator shaft. 

It was quite a ride, even for the Dark Knight of Gotham City. Not only was the elevator, itself, moving up, but his grapnel was also winding to pull him toward the car.

__

Once I reach the bottom of the car, I'm still not sure what I'm going to do.

Moments later, the elevator car did stop near the top of the building. The only thing Batman could do was to slip between the wall of the shaft beside the door on the next floor below. With a small pry bar from his utility belt, he was able to get his fingers between the two doors in an effort to pull them open wide enough so he could exit onto the floor.

__

The nerve gas must have a progressive effect based on the amount of exertion I expend.

Inch-by-inch, the doors began to give way under Batman's efforts.

__

C'mon, dammit! I can do it! 

Finally, the twin doors opened and Batman tumbled out of the shaft onto a plushly carpeted floor. A woman screamed.

Batman rose groggily to his feet.

__

Whew! That took a lot out of me ... maybe too much. Still, the gas doesn't seem to be lethal, just damned annoying. 

For the first time, the Masked Manhunter looked at his new surroundings. He was standing by a wooden podium next to the bank of elevators. Behind the podium stood a startled man in a tuxedo. A cloakroom was off to one side, and the woman who had screamed at his appearance stood there, letting her mink jacket trail on the floor. Through an entrance opposite the elevators, Batman could hear the clink of silverware against china and the subdued murmur of many people.

"H-have you a ... reservation, sir?" That from the tuxedoed man.

"A _what?"_

The man in the tuxedo was taken aback. "A-a r-reservation, sir," he stammered. "Diners _must _have a ..."

Batman looked first to the second elevator door and then back at the man. He growled back, "Do _I _look like a diner to you?"

"Well, sir, it is not my place to comment on the dress of the Rainbow Grill's clientele, although a tie is generally ..."

"Trust me. All my ties clash with this outfit."

The light beside the elevator blinked on with a low pinging sound as the doors slid smoothly open. Batman braced himself, ready to envelop his phony opponent should he step from the elevator.

The car was empty.

Batman stepped cautiously into the vacant elevator, his eyes narrowed behind the blank lenses in his mask.

__

He could be anywhere in this building by now.

The Masked Avenger's thoughts were suddenly interrupted. From the restaurant beyond the bank of elevator's, he heard the loud sound of clucking in a laugh of a voice he knew all too well from his past. The disappearance of the imposter forgotten, Batman ran from the elevator car, pushing past the tuxedoed maitre d', who thought he should at least investigate the unseemly appearance of this strange man in _his _restaurant. 

The Rainbow Grill atop the Saturn Building was one of Gotham City's finest and more well-known eating establishments. Overlooking downtown Gotham, this rather exclusive restaurant offered diners a superb view of the city through the circular room. It was from a corner of the dining room, against the windows, that the clucking laughter originated.

The clucking laughter of the Penguin.

Opposite him sat -- Selina?! She was radiant in a light purple jumpsuit, her face as bright as the summer sun. She laughed easily with the barrel-bodied man.

Batman stood at the entrance to the restaurant, staring in wonder at the two of them across the room. His eyes didn't take in the mountain of a man sitting at the next table.

The other diners in the room stopped talking suddenly at the sight of the dark gray-and-black-clad man, but he took no notice of them, just as the Penguin and Selina Kyle seemed oblivious to his presence. The Caped Crusader would soon change that.

"Well," he called out, "Look what the cat dragged in."

Penguin turned from his salmon steak, the smile on his face slowly fading as he caught sight of the costumed figure across the room. Selina paled.

The master criminal's bodyguard/henchman rose, facing the foe.

Selina reached over and touched the Penguin's arm. "Now, Oswald, remember where you are."

"Quack, Squawk! We have no reason to engage in battle, my dear," he said to her. He then turned to face his longtime foe. "What do you want of me, Batman?" 

The other diners turned as one toward Batman, breathlessly waiting for him to reply. Many people had already recognized the short, stout man, the word was passed in hushed, tense whispers to the others. They knew what must come next.

"Just your hide, you Black Bird of Prey," the Dark Knight answered.

Penguin spread his hands before him in a gesture of noncomprehension. "Why? What law have I broken to arouse your ire _this _time?"

"How about impersonating a human being, for starters?"

With those words Batman charged across the room past panicking men and women who realized they were quite suddenly in the middle of what was to become a raging battleground. Penguin made no other move than to pull Selina from her seat. "Go!" he hissed. 

Next, he grabbed his umbrella that was standing against the edge of the table. "Quack, squawk! Mister Shark! Take care of the Caped Creep!"

He looked back toward Selina. "Please, Milady, I think it would be best if you were not here to witness this." One of his eyes glinted at Batman through his monocle. "It shall be most unpleasant."

Selina left the table as quickly as she could. She knew the police would be arriving soon.

Batman leaped through the air, over tables and chairs. His gloved hands went for the Penguin's throat but they never made it. 

Shark grunted as he wedged himself between his boss and the Masked Manhunter and pushed mightily.

Still weakened from the gas, Batman staggered backwards, giving Shark the opportunity to smash a sledgehammer-like fist into his chest. The Gotham Avenger rolled with the blow as best he could, pirouetting away from Shark on the balls of his feet.

The Penguin stood with feet spread, his umbrella at the ready for any attack. "Quack, squawk! Then this is how it is to be, Batman?"

"Quit playing stupid with me, you dastardly villain," Batman said. "I don't particularly care why you're trying to set me up for a fall with your own, personal Batman flunky doing the dirty work, but ..."

"Talk sense, man!" Penguin said, his face registering genuine confusion at Batman's words.

"C'mon, Penguin, we _both _know you're behind the attacks on Dan Foster! Your second-rate hero led me right into your pudgy lap."

"Quack, squawk! My ...?"

"You should've been an actor, you filthy criminal. That way you would've been up for an Academy Award for this performance instead of a long jail sentence _up_ the river."

Batman rushed forward his arms outstretched but before he could grab the Penguin's lapels, Shark interposed himself between the two again. The big man, his reflexes unclouded by any substance, was faster than Batman. He grasped the Caped Crusader by the wrists and began to squeeze. Batman grunted in pain involuntarily.

__

This guy is super-powerful!

Batman gritted his teeth, trying to pull free of the bone-crushing hold. But the henchman was too powerful for the drugged hero. Instead, Batman threw his own 210 pounds back, momentarily upsetting the Shark's balance. He toppled backward, falling into a smooth, practice somersault. And before the Shark could release his grasp, he fell with Batman, who propelled the big man over his head with his feet. The floor of the restaurant fairly shuddered as almost a quarter of a ton of flesh and bone slammed into the ground.

With the speed and agility that amazed the Dark Knight of Gotham, Shark sprang immediately to his feet. His cruel features were set in an expression of hate.

__

Got to keep him angry so he doesn't get a chance to plan any strategy. In my condition, I doubt if I could take Scarface, let alone this walking skyscraper!

Batman was correct. The Penguin's bodyguard/henchman was far too angered by being thrown around by a smaller man to bother forming any battle plans. But for a man who possessed the strength of a runaway locomotive, skill and finesse were not always necessary in a fight -- not when he could simply lumber forward, grasp his opponent by neck and crotch before the other could react, lift him like a rag doll over his head, and heave him through a plate-glass window, hundreds of feet above the concrete of Gotham City.

Batman sailed through the Rainbow Brill's glass wall almost as if it were not there. His hand shot out, feeling desperately for the side of the building, just inches out of his reach. He fell with a shower of glass slivers raining around him, his body twisting awkwardly through the air.

He plunged headlong toward the street below, faster and faster with each second, the ground rushing up to meet him. Batman twisted his body in the air, maneuvering himself now. There was no panic left in him, no thought, as instincts honed to a fine edge through years of battling for survival took over. Below him, slightly off to his right, a flagpole jutted from the fifth floor of the building, and it was that which he aimed for. Like a parachutist in free fall, he used his cape to control his direction, bending his body in an effort to slow his speed.

The flagpole rushed up to meet him, and at the last possible second he straightened, his left hand reaching out to grasp the pole as he streaked by. His fingers closed around it and, with a spine-wrenching jerk, he stopped his headlong plummet to death. But this respite was only temporary, as Batman felt his left arm yank loose from its socket with the sudden force. Before he could bring his right hand up to reinforce his hold, his numbed fingers gave way.

His left arm dangling uselessly at his side, he dropped again. But this time, less than thirty feet below him, was the overhang of the Saturn Building's front entrance. He landed on his feet on the canopy's edge, his legs flexing at the last moment to absorb the impact of landing. He tottered at the edge for several seconds, unable to use his dislocated left arm to regain his balance. He fell the final dozen feet to the sidewalk, but before he landed in a crumpled heap, unconscious, the crimefighter called Batman managed to press a concealed button on his utility belt.

^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^

Not far from the Saturn Building was another well-known landmark that was called the Clocktower. Inside was Barbara Gordon. Paralyzed from the waist down, Barbara was once known as the high-flying Batgirl. A gunshot from the Joker crippled the red-headed woman and ended her career as the domino daredoll. She refused to let her confinement to a wheelchair end her battle against crime and evil. After a time, Barbara adopted a new guise as a computer expert and became the all-knowing and all-seeing Oracle!

Oracle's workstation in the Clocktower was comprised of six Yale super-computers that were slaved to her voice patterns.

At the moment, an alarm was sounding and Barbara's primary computer screen was flashing red. One of the Bat-clan had pressed their emergency panic alarm. Someone needed help!

Oracle pressed some keys on her computer keyboard and immediately was able to ascertain who required assistance and where they were approximately. She pressed another key to open a special encrypted radio link.

"Batman ...?" she called out into the attached microphone that hung from the headset at the side of her head.

She tried again, "Batman! I'm not getting -- can you hear me?"

Though trained not to panic, one could hear the edge in her voice. "Answer me, dammit! Are you alright?"

Not liking the silence she was receiving, she tried again, "... can you hear me?"

Barbara clicked some more keys and opened all the Bat radios. "Okay, people, we've got a problem. The Blackbird is down. I repeat, the Blackbird is down. He's in the City Hall District."

Punching some additional computer keys that allowed her to get a Global Positioning System fix on the emergency radio signal that was emanating from the Caped Crusader's communications equipment, Barbara instructed, "He's at or around the Saturn Building. Anybody in the area?"

^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^

The blackness before Batman's eyes began to disintegrate. First tiny pinpoints of light pierced the dark veil, expanding slowly into muddy gray and white patches. Then, rich pastel colors swirled into his vision, settling finally into a hazy view of the scene around him. He was back in the cave in a small, partitioned-off section of the infirmary, lying on his back on the examination table. He brought his hand quickly to his face, feeling that the mask and cowl had been removed.

"Sir? Can you hear me?" came a voice off to the side.

Batman tried to raise himself on his elbows to face Alfred and he winced in pain as he put his weight on his left arm. "Here now, Master Bruce," the butler/medic said quickly, "you'd better watch that arm of yours. Let me help you." He felt strong hands brace his back, lowering him to the table.

Alfred stepped around into Batman's line of vision. He was out of his customary suit jacket. His suspenders had been taken off his shoulders and were hanging from his waist. He had taken off his tie, opened his shirt collar and had rolled up his sleeves. It was not the usually impeccably dressed Alfred. 

He smiled pleasantly at Batman.

"How're you feeling, sir?"

"H-how did I get here?"

"Now, now. We'll answer _my _questions first and then yours, all right?"

Despite his weariness Batman looked up at him. "You're in charge now."

"That's true. Now, how do you feel?"

"Fine."

__

Considering I just fell a couple of a dozen stories from the top of the Saturn Building.

"Double vision? Headache? Any problems at all?"

"Just my arm. Did I break it?"

Alfred shook his head. "No, sir, but you have dislocated it. I took X-rays and it should be as good as new in about a week, provided, of course, you take it easy." He laughed. "I know you don't do much of _that, _do you?"

"No, I can't" the Caped Crusader admitted. "You're getting pretty good at patching me up."

Alfred waved the observation aside, smiling. "Sir, I've been in your service ever since you began putting on the cowl and tights. I've become quite adept at fixing your cuts and scrapes."

Batman sat up, careful to keep his weight off his bad arm. It didn't hurt as long as it was not jarred. In fact, his shoulder was pretty much numb to all sensation. Novocain, he guessed.

__

I'm in for some real, honest-to-goodness hurting when that wears off.

"Not to change the subject, Alfred, but would you mind telling me how I got back here?"

"Miss Selina."

"Selina?"

Alfred nodded. "She is such a beautiful woman," he said wistfully.

"Why thank you, Alfred," came a familiar feminine voice from behind.

Alfred laughed and began to step back from the examination table. He pulled aside a curtain and left Batman alone with Selina Kyle in the small infirmary. Bruce took the opportunity to slide off the table, gingerly testing to see if his legs would hold his weight. They did.

Selina watched him with a mixture of anger and humor on her face. She _was_ beautiful, as always.

Bruce found his voice. "I think I owe you thanks for getting me back here."

"No," she said in a low voice. "I love you and that's what I'm supposed to do. You were hurt, nearly killed," and her voice rose, "you jackass! I saw you lying on the sidewalk, I couldn't leave you there to die ... Tim came in his little red car and picked you up and brought you back here."

"Where is he?"

"Upstairs. Eating. Isn't that what teenagers do most of the time? That and sleep?"

Bruce nodded.

"What were you trying to do?" she asked him. "You knew I was working on something against the Penguin. Why'd you come and almost ruin it?"

"I didn't know you were there."

"Well, can't you just back off from him for while until I do what I have to?"

Like what, Selina?"

"I can't tell you now."

"But he's breaking the law! I can't let him get away with it."

"Why not? Has God appointed you the final arbitrator in such matters?"

Batman shrugged. "It's what I do."

"Then, you're saying I can't change your mind to give me a little time?" She turned to leave. She stopped and turned to face Batman again. "You are more like the rogues than you think, Bruce. Could that be why you hate them so?"

"I don't hate them," he said softly. "Well, maybe the Joker -- but it's the game we've all chosen to play. None of us can change the rules. That's the way it is."

Selina's eyes narrowed. "I've always changed the rules to fit me. I'm with you now, aren't I?"

"Yes."

She swept aside the curtain and was gone.

__

She's a hell of a woman and I'm lucky to have her at my side ... sometimes.

****

To be continued ...

Please visit my web site at: **groups.yahoo.com/waynemanor/**


	8. Chapter 8

****

BATMAN: GOTHAM CAMPAIGN OF CRIME

By Bruce Wayne

__

Batman created by Bob Kane and Bill Finger

DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.

CHAPTER 8

Alfred walked back into the examination room, a look of confusion on his wise face. Bruce was in the middle of the small room, his head slightly bowed in contemplation.

"Sir?"

The Caped Crusader looked up. "Oh, sorry, Alfred. Guess I was kind of lost in my thoughts there for a second."

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes. I just need some time to think some things through."

"Of course, sir."

Alfred went over to a cabinet and rummaged around for a few seconds before pulling out a canvas sling. "Here," he said, "Let me help you on with this. It's best to keep that arm immobile as much as possible, Master Bruce."

"Shouldn't I get this upper part of the costume off first?" Bruce asked.

Alfred merely nodded and with a pair of special medical scissors, he began to cut the shirt off his employer. With Alfred's help, Bruce got into the sling. It wrapped around his left shoulder and across his chest, keeping the bad arm tightly strapped across the front of his body.

"The local anesthetic I gave you for the pain should hold for another hour or so, and if it's too painful after that I can give you something else, sir."

"Sorry, Alfred, I need a clear head. I've got felons to catch."

"You don't understand, sir. You've done some damage to that shoulder. You need to take it easy for a few days." He knew Bruce wouldn't follow the advice.

But Bruce knew there was nothing else he could do tonight. Resigning himself to that fact, he turned and began to walk toward the stairs that would take him back up to Wayne Manor.

^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^

The seven crime bosses of Gotham City sat waiting patiently, for the most part, in the oaken-paneled conference room in the Penguin's waterfront hideout. All but the tall, hideous-looking man named Two-Face was in his appointed seat. He paced back and forth across the plush carpeting, his eyes blazing in anger.

"_We _don't like this," he said. _"We _don't like being ordered around by the Penguin like some peon! What right does he have to demand our presence at such short notice?"

"Be cool, man." Eddie Skeevers calmly dug under his fingernails with a penknife as he spoke. "We all agreed the Penguin dude was runnin' this show from the get-go. Why you gettin' so uptight, bro?"

Two-Face stood behind his chair at the foot of the table, glaring at the black man. "Because Skeevers, unlike you, _we're _used to running _our _business as _our _own! _We've _never needed another man to tell _us _what needs to be done."

Skeevers looked up from his nails, a flat, humorless smile on his lips. "At's true, man. Hell, I'll bet you didn't even need anybody to tell you to let Batman beat you spitless, right?"

Two-Face started to reply, but Ariel Shonstein held up a hand, cutting him off. "Gentlemen, please!" the old man pleaded. "What percentage is there in fighting amongst ourselves, hmmm? We are, after all, part of the same team."

"Quack, Squawk! Are we? I wonder, old friend."

Every head in the room turned at the sound of the voice from the doorway. The Penguin, when he was sure all eyes were on him, closed the double doors behind himself, then walked over to the long conference table to take his seat.

"What the hell are --"

__

"Quiet, Dent," the fat man demanded. And, despite himself, Two-Face complied. "I did not ask you here to listen to you rant."

"Then why, _amigo?" _Jose Martinez asked.

The Penguin leaned back in his seat and clasped his hands over his ample stomach. The cigarette holder was sticking almost straight up in his mouth. "You have, no doubt, heard of my run-in with Batman yesterday, gentlemen."

There were nods around the table.

"What I wish to discover is the reason for that attack."

Antonio Castro's face registered confusion. "How're we supposed to know, Penguin?"

"Because the blasted Caped Codger knew exactly where to find me. Because he attacked me, unprovoked in public. Because he spoke as if he knew our plan. Need I go on?"

The Black Mask narrowed his eyes at the Penguin. "Are you saying one of us is in league with Batman?"

Penguin fixed a beady-eye glare on Two-Face, seated across the table from him. "Quack, squawk! Yes."

"You're crazy, Penguin." Two-Face held the Black Bird of Prey's stare, refusing to allow himself to be beaten down.

"Perhaps. But I am not wrong about this. It is the only logical explanation for Batman's actions."

"Man, why would any us want to screw up this sweet deal? There's a lot of bread to be made by ownin' the mayor of this city."

"That is precisely what I wish to find out, Mister Skeevers, along with the identity and reasons behind the fake Batman who has been harassing Dan Foster. Any ideas, Dent?"

"Only that you're trying to pin this on _us, _Penguin," the coin-flipping crime boss said through clenched teeth.

"Quite the contrary, my friend," Penguin assured the other man with a smile. "However, you do seem quick to take the offensive, don't you?"

Two-Face looked at the faces of the other six men seated around the long table. He wondered how many of them could he count on to back him? But their impassive faces gave no clue to their loyalties. 

"You're speculating, Penguin."

"Am I?"

"Dammit!" Two-Face pounded his fist on the tabletop. "If you're accusing _us _of something, Penguin, you'd better just say it and quit beating around the bush."

The Penguin leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "It is no secret that you do not like me, Dent. We've spent far too many years fighting over territorial matters for there ever to be any love lost between the two of us. But that does not bother me."

He chuckled and clucked. "We are, after all, merely business partners, not lovers. What does bother me, however, is having a partner in a venture whom I cannot completely trust."

"Maybe you'd like it better if _we _weren't your partner, then."

Gotham City's most powerful criminal chief shook his head. "I prefer to have you where I can keep an eye on you, Dent."

Mister Yu, head of the Chinatown crime organization, spoke up for the first time. "You have neglected to give us a motive for Two-Face's alleged treachery, Penguin."

"Isn't it obvious, Yu? He thinks I want to get rid of him so I can take over his operations in the city."

Penguin inclined his head in Two-Face's direction. "As you say, Dent."

The little, round man rose from the leather chair at the head of the table. "That is all, gentlemen. I merely wished to point out the difficulties we have been encountering in this endeavor and mention the fact that I am fully aware of the situation. Thank you."

The seven crime bosses filed out of the conference room, each deep in his own thoughts. Every man at the meeting knew that, very soon, they would be called upon to make a choice between the two top criminal organizations' masters. Not one of them knew for certain how he would vote.

Penguin remained behind, locking himself in the conference room and settling down with a snifter of brandy to thoughts of his future plans.

No, that was not quite right. Rather, the master criminal's thoughts were centered on one man, perhaps the only man among all the organized family bosses who even came close to rivaling Penguin in criminal genius.

Harvey Dent.

He was not small-time, not like the others: Skeevers, Black Face, Yu, even Castro. Each had carved his individual little kingdom out of the highly profitable Gotham territories, and each was content with what little he had. But not Dent. He was greedy and, worse, smart -- smart enough to know the Penguin had to be gotten rid of before he could lay claim to the whole damned city, and probably half the suburbs as well.

All Penguin country.

No longer was Two-Face merely a potential threat to the Penguin and the future of the operation. He had demonstrated his willingness to destroy all of the Penguin's carefully wrought plans by interfering with Dan Foster's campaign. No doubt he somehow led Batman to the restaurant to plague him, as well. He was an accident waiting to happen. The little man was convinced of that now. He had seen Harvey Dent's hatred for him overshadow his desire to be at least part-owner of one of the biggest cities in the nation.

The Penguin sighed. He had hoped he would not have to deviate from his set plans so early in the campaign, but circumstances undeniably warranted it, whether the crime boss wished it or not. If Two-Face was allowed to continue, any hope of getting Foster elected as their puppet-mayor would vanish. The Penguin could not allow that, not with so much dependent on the outcome. Yes, Two-Face would have to be removed from the picture far sooner than Penguin had originally anticipated.

And the Penguin knew of only one method for disposing of troublesome people.

Harvey Dent -- better known, now, as Two-Face -- did not know it yet, but he was a walking dead man.

^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^

A two-tone 1936 Rolls-Royce White Phantom, gleaming silver on one side and dirty maroon on the other, glided smoothly onto the Aparo Expressway, its driver maneuvering expertly through the relatively light afternoon traffic. The other cars gave this mint-condition classic automobile ample room, most drivers preferring to stay back aways and just admire, for the most past, the clean side of its sleek chassis. That side, at least, gleamed like real silver.

Two-Face sat nestled in the plush cushions of the back seat, lost in deep contemplation as he flipped his two-headed dollar coin aimlessly in his hand. It was obvious the Penguin knew. Maybe not the hows or the whats, but certainly the whys!

Of course, Two-Face had expected Penguin would catch on eventually. After all, they both knew none of the others would have the nerve to make such attempts on the Penguin's throne.

Harvey Dent would have to move very carefully from now on. A single slip-up, and he would be lost instead of the Penguin. But there would be no slip-ups. Everything was perfect.

And before it was over, the Penguin would be no more.

^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^

Dan Foster wearily said good night to the uniformed police officer outside the door of his Robinson Park West apartment. Since the second attack the day before, his personal force of bodyguards had almost doubled in strength. He had refused, on orders of the Penguin, to cease, or at least limit, his numerous public appearances, but the police feared to let him go to the corner newsstand without a phalanx of guards. In fact, they much preferred to send an officer out for the paper.

But even had the Penguin not instructed him to go on as he had been doing, Dan Foster would still have been out campaigning just as vigorously. He didn't particularly care to be mayor, but with the life of his daughter Amy at stake, he would fight like a madman for the job!

His wife Michelle came from upstairs at the sound of the door closing. Foster thought she looked very pretty, almost girlish, dressed in blue jeans and a faded workshirt. And, for a few seconds at least, he forgot his worries and fears and kissed the woman who had been his wife for almost thirty years.

"How'd it go today, honey?" Her eyes were outlined in red, a result, Foster knew, coming back to reality with a jolt, of many sleepless nights and crying.

"Fine," he breathed. "At least nobody took a swing at me, if that's what you mean." He forced a smile. "Don't let anybody fool you, dear. It's a dog-eat-dog world out there. I think I've talked to more reporters in the past week and a half than I have in over thirty years' worth of broadcasters' conventions. Some of them reporter fellers can get pretty hostile, too."

"They're just jealous."

Foster pulled away from his wife's embrace, laughing bitterly. "Of what, Michelle?"

"Oh." Michelle Foster turned back to her husband, her hand flying to her mouth. "I-I almost forgot for a second, Dan," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. "I thought we ... we were still a normal family. I forgot all about Amy's ..." Her voice cracked and the tears flowed down her cheeks.

Foster gathered her tenderly in his arms. "Lord, Shelly, honey! I'm sorry, love. It's just that ... that everything's going so fast and I'm working so hard," he said quickly, soothingly. "Sometimes it just seems so hopeless. I'm so powerless in this situation that I just ..."

"Don't say that, Dan," she said quietly. "I don't think I could be strong if you weren't."

They held each other for long minutes, each gathering strength from the presence of the other.

"Are the kids home?" he asked at length.

She shook her head, composing herself. "Lisa's staying at a friend's and Johnny's at the library, studying. Both of them wanted to get away from the reporters for a while."

"Can't say I blame them. I wish I had a library to hide in."

Michelle walked over to the bar, which had been replaced, courtesy of the Penguin, the day after Shark's demonstration, and began fixing her husband a drink. "Dan?

Lisa asked me about Amy this morning," she said, not looking up from her work. "She wondered why we haven't gotten a postcard or something from her in so long. She was writing pretty regularly before she ... before."

Foster ran a hand through his hair. "That girl's too smart for her own good."

"She's a woman, Dan, a college graduate. She's worried about her kid sister. And that's not an answer, either."

"I don't know, honey!" he sighed, feeling a lot older than he should. "we both agreed not to tell the kids what's going on. After it's all over, fine, but not now, for crying out loud! Isn't it _enough _with the two of us worrying ourselves sick? Do the kids have to worry, as well?"

"Amy's their sister, Dan."

"And you're their mother, Michelle. Maybe there's nothing you can do for Amy right now, but you can make it easy for Lisa and John."

It was a familiar argument by now, and Michelle Foster did not feel like going through it again. "Yes," she agreed. "You're right, Dan."

"Of course, I am, honey. You'll see in a while, this will be over and Amy will be back with us."

"But it won't be over, Dan, even when they let us have Amy back. You'll still be forced to work for that monster, Penguin. I-I feel like he'll be in our lives forever."

Foster set his jaw, his steel-gray eyes glinting with sudden, renewed vigor. "No, he won't," he announced in a firm voice.

"What do you mean, Dan?"

"Just what I say, Michelle."

"But how do you ...?"

"Look, honey," he said, touching her arm, "don't ask me any questions, please!"

Michelle looked worriedly at her husband.

__

"Please, honey, promise me you'll trust me in this."

"All right," she agreed at last, reluctantly. Now she had the life of her husband to worry about, as well as that of her daughter.

It was just as well she did not know his plans included double-crossing the man who controlled the fate of their youngest daughter.

****

To be continued ...

Please visit my website at: **groups.yahoo.com/waynemanor/**


	9. Chapter 9

****

BATMAN: GOTHAM CAMPAIGN OF CRIME

By Bruce Wayne

__

Batman created by Bob Kane and Bill Finger

DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.

CHAPTER 9

Edmond Hamilton sat behind his desk in city hall, staring in disgust at the sheet of paper in his hand, the results of the latest poll. Three lines were drawn on a graph, showing the up-to-the-minute status of each of the three primary hopefuls in the upcoming election. Dan Foster was in the lead with a healthy fifty-eight percent of the people polled, followed by the incumbent Hamilton with nineteen percent and the other candidate with fifteen percent. The rest were undecided.

"Did you see this, Gordon?!" the mayor asked his police commissioner who had stopped by for his weekly meeting.

Jim Gordon walked across the desk-lined room, looking at two large posters standing up against a table. "Yes, I did, Mister Mayor."

Hamilton flipped the single sheet of paper across his desk to Gordon. "Do they call this thing a poll, Gordon?" he demanded.

Gordon had seen the figures earlier in the day in the newspaper and knew his boss would react just as he was now. "The numbers don't lie, sir."

"No, but maybe that blasted pollster that was used _does!"_

"Brubaker, McDaniel and Associates is the best there is, Mister Mayor. They've predicted nine out of the last ten elections in Gotham City to within one percent of the actual vote."

Hamilton clamped his teeth around a cigar, scowling. 

Gordon pointed to the posters that he saw. "What've you got here?" he asked.

"The art department just sent these up," the mayor said as he picked them up and propped them up before another desk as he considered them. Both bore the slogan: "It Shouldn't Cost An Arm And A Leg To Live In The City That Heads The Nation. Vote Hamilton For Mayor." 

"Catchy slogan," Gordon lied.

One showed a close-up of Hamilton, smiling his toothy, shark-faced smile into the camera. The other, a more realistic view of the man, bore a photograph of him staring out of the poster with his usual sour-faced scowl.

The mayor's young election assistant came into the office and saw that Hamilton was studying the two posters.

"I think we'd better get these out on the streets as soon as possible," Walters said. "Which one do you like, sir?"

Hamilton pushed the cigar around in his mouth for several seconds as he continued to stare at the posters. Finally, he pointed to the one bearing his smiling face. "That's the one, Walters," he declared. "I think it shows a man concerned with the business of running a city, but not so much that he ignores the voters. The suckers will eat it up!"

"You're the boss, Mister Mayor." Walters said.

Commissioner Gordon stood there knowing that Hamilton's chances of winning were nonexistent, especially against a man of Dan Foster's caliber.

^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^

The coin was the ultimate arbitrator. 

The two-headed silver one dollar piece was scarred on one side as Harvey Dent examined it in his hand. Sitting in his Lower East Side hideout, the master criminal known as Two-Face felt he was truly where he belonged. It was the coin that decided who lived and who died. Whether a crime was committed or it wasn't. He liked the smooth, cool feel of it, the almost starlight luster it possessed. He always had the coin in his possession. He had stolen and even murdered to gain more of whatever he already had.

Indeed, Harvey Dent wanted more. He was no longer satisfied with controlling just a piece of Gotham City. He now wanted it all. One of the things that stood in his way was a little man called the Penguin.

Caressing the coin in his hand, he liked the feeling of tranquility it gave him as he sat behind his two-tone colored desk. The coin brought a sense of ease to his mind, allowing his thoughts to fall into the proper, logical sequences and his plans to take form. For, of all the places in the large hideout, this was the one room that was truly his, and none were allowed to enter unbidden.

The last man who tried had died by Two-Face's own hand.

But the crime boss' thoughts were not on that now. Rather, he contemplated the growing division between himself and his rival, the Penguin. The fat man could not be overthrown by force -- of that Dent was certain. He was far too powerful in Gotham City and had too many supporters in the criminal community. If Two-Face wished to usurp the other's throne, it must be through guile. And ensuring the failure of the Penguin's current plans was by far the simplest route.

The red-and-black telephone on the desk buzzed softly for several moments before the hideously scarred criminal heard it. "Yes," he answered tersely.

"There's a guy here to see you, boss."

"_We're_ busy. Send him away."

"It's Dan Foster, Two-Face. Says he's got to talk with you."

"Foster?"

How the devil did the veteran newsman ever find him? And what could he want from Two-Face? _No matter,_ the crime boss thought as an evil smile spread across the unscarred side of his hellish features, _it merely saves us the trouble of bringing him to us!_

"Send him in," Dent replaced the receiver in the cradle. He assumed a pose of calm indifference behind his desk, staring over steepled fingertips at the door as it opened, and Dan Foster hesitantly entered.

The candidate walked toward the desk, his hand outstretched in greeting. "Dent" -- he smiled in his best television smile -- "I'm ..."

"_We _know who you are."

Foster nodded as he lowered his hand uncertainly to his side. "Yes, you would, wouldn't you?" He looked about the den, waiting to be offered a seat, but, when he saw no such offer was forthcoming, he continued quickly. "You're not an easy man to locate, Dent."

__

"We should be impossible to find, Foster."

"You very nearly were, but luckily I still have a few underworld contacts left from my days as a newsman." He laughed nervously. "Hard to believe that was only two weeks ago ..."

__

"We assume," Two-Face said quietly, "that you didn't come here to discuss your life story, Foster."

"In a way, I _did._ Only it's not the past so much as the future that worries me."

"Your future's been all neatly mapped out for you. You're going to be Gotham City's next mayor."

"You mean puppet, don't you, Dent? With the Penguin pulling the strings!"

Two-Face said nothing. Dan Foster had come to him. It was still his move.

Foster leaned across the desk, resting his hands on the surface. He appeared not to notice Harvey Dent's slight flicker of distaste at this move. "Look, Dent," he said earnestly, "it's no secret that you and the Penguin are the two biggest rivals for control of Gotham City's organized-crime families. Hell, man, he hates you. You hate him as much, if not more. And frankly, I doubt that he's planning anything but killing you at the first chance he gets." He paused, looking for a reaction from the disfigured-faced man.

"Go on," Two-Face said, his voice betraying nothing.

"Normally, I couldn't give a damn if you _both _killed each other. Neither of you means anything to me." Foster's voice turned hard with suppressed anger. "But the Penguin took my daughter away from me, Dent. He's involved my little girl in things that she neither knows nor understands, and he's threatened the lives of the rest of my family. Yes, very suddenly, he's become a threat to me and my family. And maybe there's nothing I can personally do to him to make certain he can never carry out his threats. But _you _can, Two-Face!"

The master criminal was interested in the candidate's words, for Dan Foster, he knew, was leading up to the very thing Two-Face had planned. But let Foster think it was his idea. "Penguin and I are allies in this, you know," he said impassively. "He's the one with the hold over you, not _us."_

"That could change."

"How? You don't dare step out of line while Penguin has your daughter as a hostage."

"What if he no longer had her? I wouldn't be beholden to him then, would I?"

Two-Face waved this aside. "Pure speculation, Foster. The Penguin _does _have your daughter, and only he knows where she's being held."

"You could kidnap her away from him, bring her back to me!"

For the first time since Foster had entered his office, Two-Face displayed some emotion. He laughed heartily. "What do you expect _us _to do, Foster? Pull her out of a top hat like a rabbit? _We _told you, only the Penguin knows where she is, and that's the one aspect of this operation you can be sure he's not going to tell anybody about, _especially us."_

Foster looked into the criminal's one good eye, his own steel-gray eyes flashing. "He's got her somewhere in the city," he said.

__

"We suppose he's told you, eh?"

"No. But I'm just sure he must be holding her close by."

"So?" Let's even assume you're right, _we'd _say that certainly narrows it down then, Foster," Two-Face replied in a dry voice. "_We _assume that since you're going to be it's next mayor that you know Gotham's a fairly huge city. Where do you propose _we _start looking for her? At the Dixon Docks and work _our _way up?"

"Don't tell me a man with your resources can't find one girl, Dent! I don't believe it!"

"All right, Foster." Two-Face nodded. "Suppose _we could _find your daughter and get her away from Penguin. Then what? He would've lost his hold on you and so would _we, _if _we _returned her to you as you ask. As far as _we _can tell, you're the only one who wins in that situation."

__

"You'd win, Two-Face. If you could get my daughter back to me, I'd owe you an awful lot. And I'd deliver the whole damned city right into your hands the minute I'm inaugurated!"

Two-Face stroked his chin thoughtfully. What was Foster up to? Was he sincere, or was this merely a ploy to play the two criminal leaders against one another in the very definite hope that they would destroy each other, thereby freeing the candidate from any obligation to either man? Harvey Dent decided it was most probably the latter. But could he afford to pass up this chance to have Foster under his control?

The master criminal picked up his infamous coin and showed it to Foster. "You know what this is?"

"It looks like an old, large coin to me," came the answer.

"Ah, but it's not just any ordinary coin. _This _coin is going to decide your fate, Foster." Two-Face gave Foster a closer look of the coin. "This is the good side. If it wins when _we _flip it, _we _will help get your daughter back." He turned the coin over. "If the scarred side comes up, it's _adios, amigo!" _He laughed.

Two-Face then flipped the coin high into the air. It spun and dropped into Harvey Dent's hand. 

The crime boss looked at the coin and announced, "Very well, Foster," he said at length. "_We'll _find your daughter for you."

The look of relief was visible on Dan Foster's face. "Y-you will, Two-Face?"

__

"The coin has decided," he replied coolly.

"Thank you," Foster said quickly. "T-these past weeks have been hell for my wife and me. I can't believe that it'll be over so soon."

Two-Face rose from his seat, signaling the end of the conversation. "_We'll _be in touch, Foster."

Dan Foster hurried to the door, his heart pounding like a jackhammer in his chest. He found it even harder to believe, but he had done it! He had actually managed to snow Two-Face!

Of course, compared to Penguin, Two-Face was a street-corner punk, and Foster knew he could handle him. Hadn't he just proved that by convincing the other to go along with _his _plan? Harvey Dent would undoubtedly have to kill Penguin to get Amy Foster away from him, but that was all right. Two-Face would not hesitate to slay the Penguin, and the fat, little man deserved no better. Afterward, when Amy was safely back home, the authorities could take care of matters from there. In all likelihood, Two-Face would wind up as dead as the Penguin before this was over, but that fact did not bother Foster, either, as long as the horrible-looking man remained oblivious to it until it was too late.

Unfortunately, Two-Face was not as stupid as Dan Foster thought.

****

To be continued ...

Please visit my web site at the correct URL of: 

****

groups.yahoo.com/group/waynemanor/ 


	10. Chapter 10

****

BATMAN: GOTHAM CAMPAIGN OF CRIME

By Bruce Wayne

__

Batman created by Bob Kane and Bill Finger

DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.

CHAPTER 10

Octopus stared in wonder at the tall, distinguished man who strode from Two-Face's private den, walking past him without any sign of recognition. He wondered what Dan Foster was doing here, of all places. Of course, he was just as happy that the candidate hadn't noticed him, on the off chance, he would report the fact of his visit to Octopus' boss, the Penguin.

The armed man outside Two-Face's door never took his eyes off Octopus or his hand from the butt of the pistol tucked in his waistband. Whatever Octopus' stated intentions for this visit, it did not pay to take chances with _his _boss's life. This man named Octopus had spent too many years working for Harvey Dent's arch rival, and, frankly, he would feel safer killing Octopus then and there. But he was under orders.

The intercom in the wall buzzed, Two-Face's signal to send in Octopus. "You want me to come in, too, boss?" the guard asked, eyeing Octopus closely.

"No need," the crime boss said. "_We_ think _we_ can handle matters."

Octopus stood and walked to the office door, stopping before the armed man and raising his arms above his head. "Want to search me again just to make sure?"

The guard gave Octopus a dirty look as he opened the door to let him in. Octopus brushed past him, laughing to himself. It was always fun to bait the other guy's goons, he thought.

Two-Face was once again seated in his chair. "So, you're one of Penguin's men."

Octopus nodded. "Yes, sir," he said. "At least I was, sir." Respect cost Octopus nothing, but, he had discovered, potential employers loved to see it in a man.

"Was?" _We _were under the impression the Penguin isn't the type of man who allows his people to up and quit on him."

"He don't know I'm not working for him no more, sir."

Two-Face raised his single eyebrow. "So you've just decided it was time for a change of scenery? Not very reliable, wouldn't you say so, Octopus?"

"I'm looking out for myself, sir. Besides, Penguin's been treating me more like dirt than anything else lately. I decided I was better off coming to see you. Besides, Penguin's planning something with this Foster thing." He leaned forward, speaking in a conspiratorial tone. "I think he's planning to screw all the rest of you guys ... I mean gentlemen ... out of your shares."

"Do tell."

"Yes, sir."

"And how does he plan on doing that?"

Octopus shrugged. "Beats me, sir. Penguin ain't let me in on anything he's done for a long time now. He just uses me to drive his car and do errands."

Two-Face chuckled as he shook his head in disbelief. "Really, Octopus! How stupid do you think _we _are, hmmm?"

"I don't know what ..."

"Come, now! You come waltzing in here with some story about what a poor, mistreated soul you are, how all you want is too join _our _organization for protection from the Penguin, and you expect _us _to _believe _it?" He laughed. "Go back and tell your boss it doesn't wash, Octopus. If he wants to get a man inside _our _gang, he'll have to come up with a better way. Much better!"

"Honest, Two-Face, sir," Octopus assured him, "this ain't part of Penguin's plans. Hell, if he even _thought _I was here, he'd kill me for sure. I'm telling you the truth, sir. It's just that when Penguin pulls his double-cross, I don't want to be caught in the middle of it. I don't know what Penguin plans to do afterward, but I'm still going to be around this business."

Through cold eyes, Two-Face studied the hoodlum for several long moments. "How can _we_ be sure you're not lying to _us?"_

Octopus smiled the smile of a man who knows he has the proverbial ace in the hole. "Because I can tell you where he's got the Foster chick stashed ... sir," he added hurriedly.

"She's in the city." Two-Face made this statement as a fact.

Octopus was startled. "Uh ... yeah ... yes, sir."

"If _we_ know that, why do _we_ need you?"

This was turning out to be a lot harder than Octopus had expected. Still, the very fact that Two-Face was already aware of what was supposed to be a secret confirmed his view that he had made the right decision in coming to see the rival gang leader.

"I guess you'll have to decide for yourself, sir. I mean, I showed you I'm willing. Now you got to decide if I'm able."

"Does he still have the girl at his hideout?" Two-Face did not know for certain this was where Amy Foster was being held, but if he had kidnapped her for something as vital as this operation, he'd want to keep her nearby in case of sudden trouble. He figured the Penguin would take similar precautions.

"Yes, sir. He's got her in a cell in the basement with round-the-clock security."

"Very well, Octopus." Harvey Dent smiled at the man with one half of his face. "Welcome to the organization. Oh, by the way ... you'll need a new name. _We_ don't like fish."

^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^

At that moment, a few miles to the southwest of Two-Face's hideout, Batman was driving the Batmobile through the Diamond District of the city. He had been driving around aimlessly on patrol. He was hoping to come up with answers to even a few of the many questions plaguing him.

So far, he hadn't succeeded in answering those questions.

Parking the rolling arsenal, the Caped Crusader decided a little swinging from the rooftops was what he needed to clear his head. It was just a matter of a few minutes more when he was leaping from the cornice of a building, firing a strand from his grapnel at a building up the street.

__

I can't shake the feeling that the Penguin is up to something. But what?

He shook his head.

__

I need to ask a few questions before I can get the answers I need.

Reaching the apex of his swing, Batman let go of the wire in his hand and grabbed hold of the next wire. He swung and landed on the ledge of an apartment building. He winced in pain at this maneuver, rubbing at his still-sore shoulder.

__

The number one question I need to ask is where is my phony double?

Batman squatted down on the narrow ledge.

__

How am I supposed to find that phony Batman? For some reason, the Penguin seems to had taken a big disliking in Foster, and whatever the Black Bird of Prey hates,, he gets rid of. So why not incriminate me in the process? It doesn't cost him anything extra, and it's a good bet I would've been too busy dodging police to chase after him if the Commissioner doesn't call off the dogs.

A startled gasp from a nearby window interrupted Batman's thinking. He turned to see a small, nervous-looking certified-accountant-type staring in wonder, his hand frozen in midair in the middle of tossing bread crumbs to pigeons roosting on the ledge.

"Excuse me, citizen," Batman said, rising, "I'm just an ordinary crimefighter going about my mundane business. Sorry if I disturbed you." With that, he leaped out into the air, letting the little man stare in awe. He shot a wire to the opposite side of the street. He twisted in mid-swing, smoothly turning the corner of Forty-First Street and heading west across town.

In short order, he came to the corner of Forty-First and Finger Avenue and stopped to catch his breath on a rooftop.

He didn't rest for long.

As he scanned the street below, his eyes focused on the Finger Avenue entrance to Gotham Central Station and the figure clad in skintight, black and gray that stood poised before it.

__

Look what I found!

The Dark Knight did not even have to wonder long at the fortuitous circumstances that had brought the phony Batman here, for, from his perch high above the street, Batman could see the entourage of Dan Foster making its way toward the station. Foster, two deep in worried-looking bodyguards, was making slow progress up the block as he shook hands with each and every person who passed near enough to him.

__

Take your time, Foster. I've got to sweep some of the garbage off the streets before you get here.

Swiftly, Batman shot a line to the roof of the building directly across from him on Finger Avenue. He swung himself over to it and scampered across the rooftops toward Forty-Third Street.

__

Penguin's got Batman Junior rigged up with too many fancy gadgets, especially that nerve gas, which I'm not too thrilled about getting hit with again, so I'd better not give him the chance to use it.

With his grapnel, he lowered himself down the side of the building. directly over the head of his unsuspecting double. He dropped the last dozen feet to the sidewalk behind the other's back, his booted feet making no sound that could be heard over the noise of the heavy traffic.

Silently, Batman raised his fist. Then, abruptly, he lowered it again.

__

I just can't bring myself to hit an opponent when he's not looking.

"Don't you think you're a little too old and a lot too early in the year for trick-or-treating, punk?"

The fake Batman whirled and the Masked Avenger saw his mouth was hanging open under his mask.

"Y-you!" he gasped.

"Nope! Guess again!"

Batman lunged, immediately pinning his double's arms to his sides with a bone-bending bear hug. The other struggled in the real crimefighter's steely grip, but Batman wasn't weakened by nerve gas now, and the advantage was most certainly his.

"Okay, you dastardly villain, we're going to play 'Tell Batman Everything' now. I think you can figure out the rules for yourself."

The fake Batman twisted suddenly to his right, yanking hard on the real Caped Crusader's damaged shoulder. Batman's grip loosened a little and the other man pressed his advantage by driving a heel backward into his captor's shin. The fake tore himself free and while Batman was still making sure nothing had been broken in his aching shin, disappeared into Gotham Central Station.

Batman followed his double through the revolving doors and through the light, post-rush-hour traffic of commuters and subway riders.

Gotham Central Station used to be a source of real pride for Gothamites in the days of passenger trains. It was a masterpiece of architecture, the so-called Crossroads of the World. But these days, in the era of air transport, the old station was little more than another stop on the subway map and a stopping place for several nearly bankrupt commuter railroad lines. Some in the city even wanted to tear down the street-level portion of this monument and build a luxury hotel atop it, but this proposal was met with resistance and its continued existence became one of the year's cause for celebration. For the time being, at least, Gotham Central Station would stand.

Up ahead, the fake Batman leaped over a turnstile, bringing an angry shout from a Transit Authority policeman who started after him. The Dark Knight was right behind them both as he vaulted the same turnstile. Batman reached to his utility belt for a Bat-A-Rang, but a sudden flow of passengers disembarking from a nearby train blocked his way.

"Out of the way, citizens!" he shouted, dodging and weaving through the crowd like a running back carrying the ball toward his goal. But this was Gotham City and the residents of this city tended to ignore such shouts, especially in places like Gotham Central Station, where, as everybody knew, half the odd people in the world hung out.

Batman stopped dead in his tracks and from his utility belt, pulled out his grapnel. He shot a line to the ceiling and pushed the button to rise above the crowd and swung his body through the air after his prey. Even the most jaded Gothamites could not help but be amazed by that.

The tunnel terminated in the enormous, high-domed-ceilinged central core of the station. Batman dropped to the mottled marble floor right behind his fleeing double and the persistent Transit Authority policeman. There were few other cops about the station, but those stopped what they were doing to gape at the pair of costumed Batmen running by them.

Batman got a clear path ahead of him and threw a Bat-bolo at the black-booted feet of the phony. The man stumbled and fell to the littered floor. He cursed loudly as he yanked the bolo free from his trapped boot, but before he could rise again, the real Batman was standing over him.

"This is getting to be a really boring habit, punk," the Masked Avenger said seriously. "What say we end it right here and now?"

The fake cursed again and sprayed a cloud of gas at Batman's face from the squeeze dispenser in his hand. Batman ducked under the noxious fumes and grasped the other man's arm. He yanked the fake roughly to his feet and then tossed him over his hip, sending him flying through the air and slamming him again to the floor. Dazed, the man in the Batman suit shook his head spastically and groped for something in his yellow utility belt.

He threw another of the miniature box-shaped explosives at the spot where Batman had stood just seconds ago. But the Caped Crusader was already moving away to avoid the flash and flame. While he did that, the other scrambled to his feet and started running across the huge, domed area, toward the giant clock faces set in the center of the terminal.

Batman called out, "You're not going to make this any easier on yourself, you filthy criminal." He shot a wire to the ceiling and swung himself after the costumed man.

When the fake looked over his shoulder, all he saw was a dark blur arching through the air toward him. He stopped suddenly and, at the last instant before the swinging blur's feet could strike him squarely in the chest, he threw himself to the floor, rolling back onto his feet and running with all the speed he could muster toward the escalator leading to the balcony that surrounded the station. 

Batman released his hold on the wire and dropped to the floor. He spun and fired another line at the balcony's railing, then pulled himself up to it.

The Transit Authority policeman who had pursued the fake through the turnstiles stood in the center of the station, his head tilted back to watch the action on the balcony. He wasn't sure about what was going on up there, for all he could see was two identically garbed men grappling with one another at the balcony's edge. They traded blows for long seconds that seemed like minutes, neither man seeming to hold the upper hand. Then, with a teeth-jarring blow that echoed through the high-vaulted room, one of them fell to the floor of the balcony, apparently unconscious.

He could see neither man for several minutes as the victor knelt on the floor beside the other man. Then the winner of this odd battle stood and ran down the escalator, disappearing through one of the many tunnels leading to the station.

****

To be continued ...

Please visit my web site at: **groups.yahoo.com/group/waynemanor/**

__


	11. Chapter 11

****

BATMAN: GOTHAM CAMPAIGN OF CRIME

By Bruce Wayne

__

Batman created by Bob Kane and Bill Finger

DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.

CHAPTER 11

A warm spring breeze blew off Gotham Harbor that night, gently scattering the remains of the day's litter left behind on the waterfront and rippling the otherwise calm surface of the water. A lone man stood outside the entrance to a seemingly abandoned warehouse, standing well back in the shadows that all but hid him from view, save for the glowing red tip of his cigarette. He leaned comfortably against the wall as he smoked, the fingers of his right hand never straying far from the pistol strapped to his waist. Seldom, if ever, did the armed man have to move from his post for reasons other than working the cramps out of his leg muscles. Hardly anybody, other than the drunks and the derelicts who slept in the shelter of the surrounding warehouses, ever came to the docks after dark, anyway, but each night, the man was sent to stand watch over the heavily padlocked door. It wasn't necessary, he thought, but that's the way his boss wanted it.

And he knew better than to argue with the Penguin.

But he was bored, dammit. Night after night in the darkness looking out for ... what? Nothing, that's what! The Penguin was the big fish in Gotham City, and there wasn't anyone who was stupid enough ... well, there was always the Joker -- but he was certifiably crazy, anyway ... to dare launch an attack on his stronghold.

The armed man flicked the cigarette butt across the dark, deserted pier and looked at his watch.

Two-forty-seven.

It was more than four hours until another man would relieve him of this chore, but already he was tired. He sure hated night work, he thought, yawning. Maybe if he just rested his eyes for a few seconds he'd be okay. That's why he never saw the black-gloved fist that sent him slumping, unconscious, to the hard ground.

The woman in the skintight, formfitting, purple suit with long black, leather gloves and boots stepped from the shadows next to the unconscious figure, tenderly rubbing her knuckles. Wasting no time, she dropped to her knee beside the man and quickly rummaged through the armed man's clothes. In his hip pocket she found two keys, both, obviously, for the heavy locks on the warehouse door. As an afterthought, the costumed female picked up the guard's pistol and heaved it across the dock, into the still waters of the bay.

The darkly garbed figure stepped quietly to the door, trying not to rattle the thick padlocks against their metal hooks as she opened first one and then the other. She set both down on the ground and then carefully and slowly pulled open the door.

There was a single, glaring bulb burning in the partitioned-off vestibule just inside the entrance. The costumed woman peeked through the narrow crack between the door and the frame and saw a husky man seated behind a desk, his attention focused on the early edition of a newspaper. His gun was in a shoulder-holster under his left arm.

Making as little noise as possible, the costumed woman pushed open the door and charged like an angry cat at the seated thug. The man started suddenly when the door flew open, dropping his newspaper in surprise. But his astonishment was short-lived and, with a growl, his hand reached swiftly for his gun. He wasn't swift enough, however, and the masked intruder had vaulted over the desk and slammed into him before his fingers could close around the pistol's grip. The seat skidded backward across the floor several feet before one of its legs snagged in a hole in the linoleum and the chair crashed to the floor. The masked woman rolled away from the toppled office chair and sprang back to her feet, prepared to face the gunman. But the gunman was no longer a threat now, not after hitting his head against the hard floor.

Catwoman cocked her head, listening for activity on the other side of the partitions. She could hear nothing, which probably meant those inside had not noticed her entrance.

She slipped silently through the door that lead to the interior of the warehouse and found herself in a vast, dimly lit room of poured-concrete construction. Scattered around the perimeter of it were a few crates, but aside from that and judging from the immaculately clean quality of it, it was obvious this warehouse had not been used to store anything in a long while. The information she had received was correct.

She moved quietly across the concrete floor to a single fire door on the opposite side of the room. Catwoman pressed down on the bar and, after checking to make sure no more guards awaited her on the other side, she went through the door. It was like she had stepped into the finest hotel in the city.

The walls of the wide corridor were lined with heavy oak paneling on which hung a variety of paintings by famous artists. Being an expert in such artwork, she was sure they were not copies. After several yards, the corridor branched off into two, one lined with doorways leading, Catwoman assumed, to offices, sleeping quarters, and the like, and the other, much shorter, with a single plain wood door at the far end. She took the shorter corridor.

The door opened onto a stairway that led down to a basement. Catwoman started to descend into the darkness when she heard a sound behind her.

It was the shuffling of many feet running across a linoleum-covered floor.

She turned to face a trio of men rushing down the hallway at her, guns drawn. Cursing under her breath, she dashed down the stairs, the three gunmen at her heels. Catwoman came to the bottom step and, lost in the darkness of an unfamiliar place, tumbled to the floor with a thud. She lay there, holding her breath as she listened to the gunmen's shoes pounding against the wooden stairs in pursuit. In a moment, the first man reached the bottom of the steps, but, like Catwoman, he, too, was hampered by the darkness and therefore did not see his prey lying in his path. With a yelp, he tripped over the huddled shape on the floor and crashed to the floor, his gun flying from his hand. That was one.

Catwoman's eyes had partially adjusted to the dim light and she could make out the dark forms of the remaining men on the stairs. They had stopped short when they heard their comrade's cry and now were listening, waiting for the intruder to make the next move.

She didn't have to.

Catwoman watched in surprise when another dark shape seemed to rise mysteriously behind the men on the stairs. A large, dark figure wearing a cowl.

She watched as the new form crept up behind one gunman and pushed the henchman off the stairs toward her.

With a startled cry, the man found himself flying through the air and landing on his rear end with a spine-jarring crash. Catwoman knocked him unconscious before he could utter a second sound.

That was two.

Batman didn't worry about subtlety with the third and final member of the group, preferring instead to launch his attack, first by knocking the gun from the man's hand and then punching him down the stairs.

And _that _was three.

Batman peered into the darkness and looked at Catwoman.

"Meow," she said in greeting.

All she received in reply was a grunt.

Both costumed figures noticed a glow coming from under a door. They felt their way carefully across the small basement until they came to the source of the light.

Feeling around with his hands, Batman could tell it was indeed a door, a reinforced metal door held shut by a slip-lock over the knob. This was the place.

"So," she whispered in his ear, "what brings you here, handsome?"

"Probably the same thing as you," he whispered back.

Batman pulled back the bolt and swung the door open. Inside was a ten-by-ten room, furnished simply but comfortably with a bed, an easy chair, a small desk-and-chair set, and a television and radio built into the whitewashed wall. Lying asleep in the bed was a teenage girl. She was sixteen, but to Catwoman she looked much younger in repose, practically a baby.

Catwoman knelt by the bed and gently shook the girl's shoulder. She responded sleepily, pushing away her hands, but Catwoman persisted, and soon the girl's steel-gray eyes opened. She looked into the purple cowl the woman wore and her mouth opened as if to scream. Quickly, Catwoman placed her hand gently over the teenager's mouth and brought a warning finger to her own lips.

"It's okay, Amy," Catwoman whispered reassuringly. "I've come to take you back to your folks!"

No one challenged the darkly garbed man and woman and the young girl clad only in a nightgown as they hurried quietly through the sleeping headquarters of the Penguin, past the still-unconscious guards. Once free of the criminal boss's hideout, they ran across the silent dock to the Batmobile parked several hundred yards away on a dark street. Batman gestured for the girl to get in the back seat while he and Catwoman slipped into the front.

It was a quick ride to another location. The hideout of Two-Face. The Caped Crusader escorted the girl inside the warehouse.

"Daddy!" the girl sobbed as she saw one of the two men who waited patiently in the spacious seat. She threw her arms around Dan Foster's neck and held him tightly to her, crying convulsively against her father's strong shoulder. Foster clung to her just as tightly, touching her to make certain she was really with him once again after the weeks of uncertainty and torturous waiting.

"Well, Foster, you have your daughter back," Two-Face said of the tearful reunion.

Foster nodded. "Yes," he managed to say. "Thank you, Two-Face. Thank you so ..."

"You know how you're supposed to thank _us, _Foster. That'll be more than adequate, _we're _sure." 

Inside the room was four very unlikely people. One of Gotham City's most powerful criminal bosses; a candidate for the job of mayor of the city and his young daughter; and a man, Two-Face thought, clad in the black-and-gray garb of the crimefighter called Batman. 

Little did Harvey Dent know.

^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^

"I still don't trust that man, Dent," Dan Foster said, seated now in the master criminal's hideout.

Two-Face glanced over at the man in the Batman costume who leaned casually, arms folded across his chest, against the wall of the study. "Benson?" he said. "_We_ explained about him to you already, Foster. He was necessary to the plan." Dent spread his hands in front of him and smiled on one half of his face at the candidate. "_We _assumed you'd understand there was nothing personal in the attacks."

"It's hard not take being threatened with murder personally, friend."

The criminal waved this aside. "In _our _line of work," he chuckled, "_we _do it everyday. Nevertheless, he wouldn't have killed you, Foster. But _we_ had to force Penguin into a position where his plan was in jeopardy. _We _had to make _sure _there was enough interference so that it couldn't possibly succeed."

"You mean you _wanted _me to lose the election? But why? I thought you were the Penguin's partner?"

"So did he," Two-Face chuckled. "True we stood to make billions of dollars each with you under our control in City Hall, but frankly, it's more important to _us _to have Penguin out of _our _hair at this moment. Besides, now that _we've _gotten your daughter back for you, we can still proceed as planned. Only _without _the Penguin!"

The door to the study opened and Amy Foster, now dressed in blue jeans and a man's shirt, entered. She didn't speak to anyone as she crossed the room and stood by her father's chair. Though she was freed of the Penguin's clutches and back with her father, she was still frightened by the terribly scarred criminal who had supposedly arranged for her rescue. Little did anyone know, she was following instructions from someone else in the room.

"How are you, honey?" the candidate asked softly.

She nodded, keeping her eyes on Two-Face. "Fine, Daddy. They found some clothes for me upstairs. Is that _really _Batman, Daddy?"

"No, honey. He works for Mister Dent."

Suddenly the door flew open and a man clutching a rifle in his hands rushed in, his face taut with excitement. "Boss ..."

Two-Face rose, eyes blazing. "How dare you enter without permission, Davis!"

"Sorry, Two-Face," the man stammered. "But this is an emergency! The Penguin and his gang of goons are attacking the hideout!"

"What?!"

"There's gotta be two dozen of 'em, boss, and they're all armed to the teeth. We tried to hold 'em off at the front door, but they blasted their way right past us! Those goons are out for your blood, boss!"

Two-Face was already running through the door, a semi-automatic handgun from his desk drawer clutched in each hand. "Damn them," he said through clutched teeth. "How'd they _know?"_

He stopped abruptly and turned to the man with the rifle. "Get Foster and the girl downstairs, Davis. They'll be safe there."

He pointed to the costumed man with one of the guns. "You come with _us, _Benson!" Then he was gone, running to lead his troops into battle.

"You heard the boss," Davis said to the masked man who had yet to move.

"Yes, I did, punk," the man in the Batman costume said. "Only he's not _my _boss!" With that, he punched the henchman in face with a tremendous blow. The thug was sent sprawling to the floor unconscious.

Dan Foster stared. "Good lord, man! Y-you really _are _the real Batman, aren't you?"

"Yes, he is, Daddy!" Amy said gleefully.

"But how'd you ...?"

"I seriously doubt we have the time to go over all the details, Foster, but suffice to say, I took Two-Face's flunky's place yesterday. Although I don't fully understand how _anyone _could've mistaken that imposter for me."

"I don't understand ..."

"Any second now this place is going to look like the battle scene from any World War Two movie of your choice. I don't think you want to be in the middle of that, especially with your daughter here!"

The veteran newsman gripped his daughter tighter to him. Already in the distance, he could hear the crackle of gunfire and the shouts of many men engaged in battle. He nodded quickly. "You're right, Batman. What do you want us to do?"

"I'm going to get you out of here."

Pressing a hidden switch on his costume, the Dark Knight seemed to speak into the air. "Catwoman, two for pick up. Are you inside?"

In his ear, he heard: "Be there in a jiff."

Batman turned back to Foster and his daughter. "In a moment, a woman will be here to lead the both of you to safety. Follow her instructions implicitly. If you don't, she'll get mad ... you don't want to get her mad. Understand?"

They both nodded.

A moment later, a costumed female entered the room.

"My, God!" Foster started to say. "That's Catwoman! I thought she was a criminal and ..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah! That's what you newspeople always say," Catwoman replied.

"Daddy, she helped save me from the Penguin," Amy explained.

Catwoman ordered, "Let's go."

The woman known as the Princess of Plunder stepped cautiously out into the hall, looking both ways. It was clear. She signaled for Foster to follow. They hurried along the empty corridor, Catwoman in the lead to make sure the way was clear of gunmen. Only once did someone appear around the bend in the hallway, but the female fatale grabbed him by his shirt before he could shout out an alarm and knocked him into unconsciousness.

Finally, the trio reached the back door. The fighting had yet to spread to the rear of the big warehouse.

Catwoman led them to the Batmobile and had to two civilians get into safety of the rear passenger compartment.

"You'll be safe here," she told them.

Foster nodded. "Yes. I don't know how to thank you and Batman. You've ..."

"Forget it," Catwoman said lightly. "Just make sure the newspapers spell my name right. Now just stay here until tall, dark, and broody returns."

Dan and Amy Foster just sat in the heavily armored vehicle.

Catwoman turned and ran toward the front of Two-Face's hideout where the sounds of gunfire had grown closer together and louder.

Also making his way toward the entrance from the inside was Batman.

__

It's going to be the St Valentine's Day Massacre all over again if I don't do something to stop these clowns.

Outside a kitchen, a lone thug stood, his gun cocked and aimed down the hallway as the last line of defense against the invaders lurking beyond a single, fragile door. He whirled when the opening door bounced off his arm, not bothering to see who he was firing his gun at. Batman leaped up, kicking the gunman in the face.

He dropped to the floor next to the unconscious man and took off in a low crouch to the end of the corridor. There he paused next to the door, peering through the keyhole. Even in the narrow strip of the room he could see through the small opening, it looked like the climax to an episode of the old television show "The Untouchables." Two-Face's men had overturned the long sofa that ran the length of the wall opposite the entrance to the huge living room and were kneeling behind it, popping up sporadically to return fire. Batman could not see the door to the room, but he could see bullets from that direction drilling through the plush fabric of the sofa, ripping it to shreds. The sofa's heavy antique wooden frame protected the men from harm.

Neither Two-Face nor the Penguin was anywhere to be seen. 

Straightening his shoulders, Batman grasped the doorknob.

__

Here goes nothing.

^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^

After he had organized his men, Two-Face disappeared from their midst. None of the men was bothered by this fact. After all, he was the boss and he had more important things to do than shoot it out with a gang of rival criminals. That's what _they _were paid for, wasn't it?

The criminal mastermind had not reached his high position without learning something of the hazards the leader of a crime empire faces. Thus, he had an escape route planned for just such a contingency as this, a route unknown to any other man in his organization. He should have anticipated the attack by the Penguin, though, and moved his operations elsewhere. But, he realized, locking himself in his study, this was not the time for an analysis of his mistakes. That would come later, when he was once again safe.

In his haste, Two-Face almost tripped across the unconscious Davis on the floor. The crime boss cursed. "No, dammit! It _can't _be him!"

Two-Face growled and kicked at the man's head. Stupid, jackass, he thought as the helpless gunman was sent even further into dreamland. To hell with him. He'd leave this incompetent fool for Penguin's guns! He stepped over the man and moved quickly to the wall behind the desk. He jabbed his finger into the narrow crevice between two of the wall panels, and with a low hum of a well-oiled machine, the panel slid open.

The crime boss stepped into the dark tunnel beyond the panel, pausing to look back with wistful eyes at all the things that decorated the room. He hated to leave it all behind. Perhaps if he just took ... No. A loud pounding on the door brought his thoughts back to the matter at hand and, with a sigh, he ran down the dark tunnel as the panel began to slide closed.

The pounding on the door grew louder and more forceful until, with a crash, the lock burst open and the door slammed into the wall. The Penguin, his beady, little eyes shiny with hatred burst into the room right behind his huge henchman Shark. Penguin's eyes flickered quickly over Davis lying prone on the floor, to the almost closed panel, behind which he could hear the fading echo of retreating footsteps.

Shark lumbered across the room and shoved his hands into the remaining space between the panel and the wall. He grunted as he applied his powerful muscles in a contest against the mechanism that operated the hidden entrance. Slowly, he halted the progress of the sliding panel and, with an extra burst of strength and the screeching protest of metal grinding against metal, he tore the panel almost completely from its track.

The footsteps were almost inaudible by now, but the Penguin knew his rival was down there, somewhere, and he would not get away. The Man of a Thousand Umbrellas knew he could let no treason, no matter how insignificant, go unpunished. Two-Face's acts warranted nothing less than death!

Far ahead, he could see a pinpoint of light that grew larger as he and Shark approached. Obviously the tunnel, carved from solid rock beneath the warehouse, culminated in a cavern or room of some sort. The fat man holding an umbrella in his hand slowed as he neared the crudely carved entrance to the lighted area. He could hear the sounds of splintering wood coming from there, like someone was tearing frantically through a crate.

Someone was, for when the crime king peered carefully into the room, he saw Two-Face, his two handguns lying on top of a stack of crates just out of his reach, rummaging through packing material in a hastily opened crate. The small rough-walled room was likewise carved into solid rock and was filled with boxes and packing crates marked "_Ammunition" _or _"Guns." _The disfigured-faced criminal had quite an impressive arsenal hidden beneath his Gotham hideout.

Penguin and Shark entered the room silently while Harvey Dent's back was to them and Shark effortlessly hefted a crate of guns over his head.

"_Quack, squawk! Two-Face!" _the Penguin called out.

The other criminal whirled, something long and metallic from the crate clutched in his hands. He saw Shark and then the crate he held and, as the big man tossed the two-hundred-pound weight at him, Two-Face threw himself headlong to the cold, stone floor. The crate shattered on the spot where Harvey Dent had stood just a second before. But before the thing had even landed, Shark was running toward the rival crime boss, an animal-like growl growing in his throat.

"Call him off, Penguin!"

Two-Face was on one knee, the metallic object in his hands pointed at the little man's ample belly. It was a rifle, of sorts, but its barrel was far wider and its ammunition clip bulkier than the norm. The Penguin came to an abrupt halt, as did his henchman/bodyguard.

"This gun shoots special explosive charges, little man," Harvey Dent hissed menacingly. "And even though _we're _not the best shot in the world, even _we _couldn't miss you and your big ape!"

"Then you had better kill me now, Dent," the Penguin said calmly. "Otherwise ..." His words trailed off and he smiled evilly.

Two-Face rose carefully to his feet, mindful that his aim did not waver from his rival's belly. "_We do_n't think so, Penguin," he said. "You may have the strongest man in town in your employ, but even the two of you aren't going to be able to survive this thing."

"Perhaps not, but I shan't be the only one to die then this day, my two-faced friend. My people outnumber yours and once they find your no-longer-secret entrance down here, they will kill you." He cackled and clucked. "Unless you prefer to go back now and save them the trouble, hmmm?"

Two-Face laughed harshly. "You don't think _we're _a fool, do you? There's another way out of here, you know. Your thugs will never find _us_ once _we_ choose to disappear."

"But you _are _a fool, Dent," the Black Bird of Prey roared with laughter. "You sought to confound my project, but you became far too greedy for your own good. You should have been satisfied with your share of the profits rather than trying to have it _all._ But now, alas, it is too late!"

"For you maybe. Maybe you don't know it yet, but you and your men aren't leaving here unless they're either dead or captured by the cops. Batman is here!"

"I know about your costumed lackey," Penguin said, shifting his weight on his feet and waving his hand through the air.

__

"We're not talking about him, little man. The genuine article is here. Even as we speak, he's probably mopping up everybody left alive upstairs." He gestured with the gun. "Tell your big creep to stand still, Penguin!"

The Penguin looked at Two-Face through his monocle, smiling. "Enough of this farce," he said at last. "I'm afraid the time has come for you to die. Mister Shark!"

Two-Face raised his weapon. "You're only partially right, Penguin. It's time for death, all right, but not _ours."_ His finger tightened on the trigger. "Sure as hell not _ours!"_

He fired.

The small projectile exploded from the gun's barrel, streaking unerringly toward Penguin's expanse of chest. But the Man of a Thousand Umbrellas was moving even as the deadly explosive homed in on him. He quickly opened his bullet-proof umbrella which blocked the projectile!

Two-Face had time to curse loudly only once as the explosive bullet struck harmlessly against the protective umbrella.

Seeing Shark coming toward him, Harvey Dent quickly turned toward him without proper aim and fired again. The explosive bullet flew over the head of its intended target and buried itself instead in a large crate containing four dozen hand grenades. With a deafening roar and a blinding flash of light, it detonated amongst the shipment of grenades, setting off a chain reaction among the thousands of pounds of explosives stored there.

And then the sky fell in on Two-Face, the Penguin and the Shark.

****

To be continued ...

Please visit my web site at: **groups.yahoo.com/group/waynemanor/**

__


	12. Chapter 12

****

BATMAN: GOTHAM CAMPAIGN OF CRIME

By Bruce Wayne

__

Batman created by Bob Kane and Bill Finger

DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.

CHAPTER 12

The gunfire ceased for the briefest of instances as Batman charged into the midst of the raging battleground that had once been Two-Face's living room. Both sides lowered their weapons and stared at the Caped Crusader, but their astonishment was short-lived, and within seconds they had started shooting anew, this time aiming for Batman rather than each other.

Reaching to his utility belt as he dove for cover behind some furniture, Batman pulled out a smoke pellet and threw it to the middle of the floor. Almost in an instant, the entire room was consumed in a cloud of whitish smoke.

Unable to see what they were aiming for, the criminals' bullets drilled holes through the plaster all around Batman, but miraculously, the fast-moving Masked Avenger evaded them all. 

Switching the lenses of his cowl to thermal-imaging, Batman was able to register the heat source of every thug in the room through the smoke.

He rammed into one feet first, sending the man toppling backward to the floor.

In the close quarters of the small hallway leading to the living room, the Penguin's men could not risk firing their weapons at Batman for fear of accidentally shooting one of their own number, so many reversed their guns to use as clubs. The Dark Knight of Gotham City ducked under a forcefully swung rifle butt, wrenching it from its owner's hands as he drove a foot into the man's belly.

He pivoted on the balls of his feet in time to bring the rifle up to block another blow from behind and then rammed the butt into his attacker's chin. Batman grabbed yet another gunman by his shirtfront and swung him to one side to take one of his comrade's punches intended for Batman.

As the smoke was beginning to dissipate, another man rushed toward the crimefighter, his hand holding a knife over his head. Batman kicked one man out of the way, spun and kicked the knife out of the hand of the approaching attacker. He spun again, delivering a vicious backhand slap to another thug's face, using his momentum on the return swing to knock still another charging man down and out for the count.

Batman stood now with his back braced against the wall, facing the four remaining gunmen. But by reducing the gang's numbers so drastically, the Masked Manhunter had cleared the way for them to use their guns against him once more. Batman propelled himself from the wall and landed on top of the quartet of closely grouped gunmen, his arms flailing seemingly without rhyme or reason. He immediately knocked aside one man, who fell with a low moan to the floor. Then he pushed another man in the chest and, arms windmilling in a desperate attempt to regain his balance, he tripped backward over his fallen comrade, cracking his skull loudly against the wall.

The remaining two men backed off quickly.

"Better say good-bye, freak," one of them muttered as they both leveled their pistols at him.

"Why? You punks planning to leave?"

They hadn't noticed a few seconds before when Batman had reached to his utility belt. His hand shot out before him as he hurled razor-sharp mini Bat-a-rangs at the thugs as they pulled the triggers. Their aim was thrown off as the projectiles became painfully embedded in their arms. 

With a cry of pain and alarm, one man dropped his gun to the floor, clutching at the Bat-a-rangs sticking out of his chest and forearm. But his pain lasted only for a moment before Batman knocked him into unconsciousness even as his foot lashed out into the second gunman's face.

"Yeah," he muttered, "I guess you _were _planning to leave at that."

Batman quickly used flexi-cuffs to bind the unconscious and semi-conscious men scattered about the floor.

Touching the concealed button on his costume, Batman spoke into the air of the room. "O? Send the GCPD into the warehouse I'm at. Tell them they better bring some wagons."

A quick "_roger" _was all he heard over his comm-link from Oracle.

The gunmen in the living room had fallen silent in the half-minute of so it had taken Batman to defeat Two-Face's forces, and they waited tensely behind their antique sofa shield, all guns aimed at the doorway. The sounds of struggle in the vestibule beyond the door had ceased and they knew that the man they thought to be a comrade in costume would soon turn his wrath on them. But they, unlike the rival gang members, were prepared.

But no matter how prepared you may be for an attack that you know is coming, you can never adequately prepare yourself for a flash/bang pellet that explodes in the confine of a small enclosed space. The effect is usually devastating and temporarily debilitating to the eyes, ears and mind of the intended target. 

The bang was loud. The flash was blinding.

They were unable to see the man-sized bat shape as it flew through the doorway. It didn't take long for the Caped Crusader to overcome the blinded criminals.

In his mind, he knew that this was just the warm-up act. He still had to face Two-Face, the Penguin, and the Penguin's mighty goon called Shark.

__

"Quack, squawk! Do not worry yourself about Two-Face, Batman!"

The Caped Crusader whirled suddenly at the sound of the voice which emanated from the doorway behind Harvey Dent's trussed-up thugs.

"What the ...?"

He faced the large, barrel-chested bodyguard of the Penguin who stood in the doorway, his clothes hanging in tatters from his vast body, covered by dust and dirt but looking as fierce, as powerful, as the day they met in the restaurant.

From behind the massive mound of humanity, the Penguin, looking as equally in disarray, called to his longtime foe, "I said, Batman, you need not concern yourself with that fool Dent. He'll be lucky to survive before he receives medical attention. I should've allowed Mister Shark, here, to crush the life out of him, but I wanted him to suffer in pain. Let him think about his mistakes before he died. But he still lives -- just barely -- in the basement. Now, it is just you and Mister Shark, hmmm?"

^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^

Before confronting Batman, the Penguin could remember that the sudden silence after the explosion in the basement was in itself deafening.

For long moments after the roof of Two-Face's secret arsenal had collapsed around the heads of the rival criminal bosses in the aftermath of the exploding ammunition, not a sound could be heard in the artificially created underground cavern. Tons of rocks and dirt had fallen on top of the three men, burying them seemingly forever underneath it. Had anyone been there to see this disaster, they would have sworn that no man could live through it.

They would have been wrong.

Slowly at first, the rubble near the cavern's entrance stirred, sending a small avalanche of debris tumbling, echoing in the enclosed confines of the area. Then, as if a powerful digging machine was attacking the tons of rock from beneath, something gave way and there was a sudden, veritable geyser of rocks, big and small, flying upward into the air.

And with a roar of defiance to waiting death, the Shark was free!

The huge man helped his employer to his feet and the two men staggered from the cavern and into the tunnel that led to Two-Face's warehouse. They stumbled across a moaning Harvey Dent who looked like he was barely hanging on to life. They were torn and battered, yes, but the Penguin, his bodyguard Shark, and Two-Face were still alive.

__

Alive!

When at last the Penguin and Shark reentered Harvey Dent's study, the sounds of gunfire could still be heard emanating from the rooms beyond, but as far as they were concerned, the battle had ended with the blast in the cavern below. For, when Two-Face's hired gunmen realized their leader was going to do no more than lay in a hospital bed for a long time, they would suddenly lose their reason for fighting and, perhaps, join forces with this day's victor.

But then, the closely spaced shooting abruptly ceased and it was only then that the Penguin remembered what Two-Face had said just before the sky fell in on them: _Batman was here!_

The Penguin was weary. Shark was weary. The Penguin felt as though his whole body seemed to be a single, massive bruise that ached with his every step, but the battle was not yet done, after all -- not while the accursed Masked Moron still breathed!

But that could be easily remedied.

^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^

Batman looked into the eyes of the battered Shark and then to the Penguin. In both men's eyes, he saw a fire of rage that burned brighter than any he had ever seen. In the past, he had always come out the winner in his battles with the Penguin, but now ... with this human battleship in his employ ... Penguin was trying to even up the odds, at the very least.

__

There's only one way to find out, isn't there?

"Quack, squawk! You have interfered with my plans for the final time, Batman." The Penguin's voice was barely audible, but there was no mistaking the menacing tone of his words.

__

I almost believe him.

"What plans, you Black Bird of Prey? Dan Foster's daughter is safely back to her family, and even as we speak, the police are on their way here. To tell the truth, I think you're finished."

"Then so are _you, _rodent!" spoke Shark for the first time.

The Shark stepped forward and grasped the bullet-ridden sofa, lifting it above his head with a grunt and heaving it at Batman. The Masked crimefighter leaped out of its path as it crashed into and through the wall behind him.

__

That could've been me instead of the wall.

Batman reached to his utility belt for some mini Bat-a-rangs. His hand came up empty.

__

Damn! I used up all my Bat-a-rangs fighting the hired help.

With a roar, the Shark charged across the room, his head down like an enraged bull. Batman side-stepped the mountain of flesh and bone at the last possible instant, bringing his left elbow down with all his might on the man's exposed neck. A wave of agony shot through his shoulder and the Caped Crusader gritted his teeth beneath his mask to keep from crying out.

__

Unnh! I forgot about that shoulder of mine! Hurts like hell!

But the Dark Knight's blow had driven the Shark to his knees, momentarily dazed, a vulnerable target for maybe another second until he regained his senses. He leaped onto the Shark's back, wrapping his legs around his thick torso and covering the huge man's eyes with his gloved hands.

With a growl of rage, the Shark reached behind his head and grasped Batman's shoulders in his meaty hands. The Masked Manhunter tightened his hold as the Shark pulled at him and rose, staggering slightly, to his feet. He dug his powerful fingers into Batman's upper arms, applying numbing pressure. Batman gasped as his arms loosened around the Shark and the big man bent forward suddenly at the waist, tearing the clinging hero loose and sending him flying through the air.

Batman twisted his body in midair and landed on his feet several yards away from the Shark and the Penguin, who was witnessing the entire battle.

Batman rubbed his numb arm, feeling sensation slowly returning. 

The two men who were joined in combat circled each other, slowly making a circle in the middle of the floor.

__

"Quack, squawk! You fool!" Penguin spat. "The damage you have caused can never be repaired! You have destroyed my greatest plan!"

"That's my job, Penguin," Batman replied. His eyes shifted quickly behind the opaque lenses searching for an opening in his opponent's defenses. There was none. The Shark was well versed in the art of hand-to-hand combat.

The Shark's right arm shot out, almost too fast to be seen, but Batman was faster still. His fingers closed tightly around the thick wrist and he stepped in close to the huge man, tossing him in a single, fluid motion over his hip and into a table. The antique wooden coffee table gave way as the Shark slammed heavily into it.

Batman sprang at his fallen opponent but was stopped when the Shark's foot lashed out, catching him squarely in the chest and pushing him roughly back. Before he could recover, the Shark was on his feet, rushing toward him. He grabbed Gotham's Masked Avenger by the front of his costume and yanked him bodily into the air, lifting the struggling crimefighter over his dead like a child.

"It would have been perfect, damn you, _perfect!"_ the Penguin growled through clenched teeth. "Those cretins believed every word I said! They believed I was actually trying to get our man into City Hall as our puppet-mayor so we could loot this city clean!"

Shark heaved Batman through the air, sending him tumbling out of control into a tall pole-lamp in one corner of the room. Batman landed on his left shoulder with a sickening crash, this time almost blacking out from pain that shot through his entire arm. He knew, through the haze of pain, that that arm would be useless for the duration of the fight.

"Their problem was they were too greedy," the Penguin continued. "I dangled the possibility of _billions _before their eyes in exchange for a paltry few million dollars a man, but in their greed they never realized the plan could not work! Foster would have been elected, yes, but there was no way to hold him after that, you see. He would have merely had to go to the federal authorities and they would have provided protection for his family!"

Batman groaned and tried to stagger to his feet. He fell back, clutching the pole-lamp.

__

What is he babbling about?

"Foster is no fool, you Costumed Cut-up," Penguin said. "Once his daughter was returned to him after the election, he would have figured it out before long. And all the dreams of untold riches would have died then and there."

"T-then what the hell was a-all this for?" Batman managed to ask.

__

Keep on talking, Penguin. Your flunky is listening to you as closely as I am. It just gives me more time to get my head on straight again.

"For _me_, you dolt." Penguin replied. "The money I had deceived my rather gullible colleagues into contributing for the execution of my plan would have been more than adequate to finance a new life abroad, where no one would know who or what I was. But now ..."

__

You said it, Pengy ... NOW!

Without warning, Batman used his good right arm to pull the pole-lamp free of the clamps that held it moored securely to ceiling and floor. He rammed it into the Shark's stomach and the henchman doubled over in pain as the air exploded from his lungs. In the same motion, the Caped Crusader brought the tip of the lamp up into the huge man's jaw, snapping his head back. Yet still the Shark stood, his eyes glazed. Batman dropped the lamp and followed his one-two punch with a right cross to the other's face. Grunting in pain, the Shark stumbled backward but did not fall.

"What are you, anyway?" Batman asked. "The second cousin to an oak tree? This is the part where you're supposed to fall down and get unconscious."

The big man shook his head violently, clearing the cobwebs from his muddled thoughts. He wanted nothing more than to do as the Dark Knight said, but he would not, could not, while the possibility of escape still existed.

The Penguin looked on nervously. Was it possible that the strongest man in Gotham City could succumb in battle with the Masked Has-Been?

Batman had not expected the master criminal's henchman to recover so swiftly. Thus, he was unprepared when the Shark threw all of his awesome strength into a final, desperate lunge. He could not get out of the way in time, and when the huge, enraged criminal landed fully on him, he could only roll with the man's bulk and hope he would not be crushed beneath it.

The Shark's sledgehammer-like fist thudded against the side of Batman's head as the two men went down in a churning pile of arms and legs. The Masked Avenger of Gotham City was pinned down to the floor by the Shark as his hands sought a hold around Batman's throat.

"Yes" -- the Penguin breathed as he looked on at the titanic struggle -- "it would have been the perfect crime ... a fitting finale for the finest criminal career of all time! _Quack, squawk! _I would have had over twenty million dollars with which to start a new life, and the true beauty of it all was my comrades in crime would never have pursued me to exact their revenge for my transgression!"

Shark's hands found purchase around Batman's throat and he began to squeeze, his eyes shining.

The Penguin continued explaining his misfortune to Batman as the life was being choked out of him. "They would have been too preoccupied fighting one another for control of my abandoned territory to concern themselves with me for many months, and by that time, I would have disappeared, seemingly off the face of the earth!"

Batman clawed desperately at the Shark's hands as the very breath was slowly wrung from his neck.

__

Got to do ... something ... real fast or I-I'm a ... a dead man!

"But you, Dynamic Dingbat -- you came along and ruined this one last chance I had for criminal stardom!" Penguin taunted.

Black spots floated before Batman's eyes as he felt consciousness slowly slipping away from him. It would all be over in another moment, unless ...

Batman wiggled his arms out from beneath the Shark, every move sending fresh waves of pain slicing through his wounded shoulder.

__

At ... at least with t-the pain I ... I know I'm still alive!

Gathering the last bits of strength in his tortured body, the Caped Crusader clapped his hands as hard as he could over the Shark's ears.

The giant man gasped in pain, relinquishing his hold just long enough to allow Batman to breathe again. Quickly, he gathered air in his aching lungs as his right fist connected solidly with the Shark's jaw. The Dark Knight pushed the Shark from him, sending the criminal crashing on his back to the floor, then leaped onto his enormous torso.

The tables are turned now, big man," he croaked angrily, sending blow after blow into the dazed man's face. The Shark struggled as the Penguin looked on in disbelief. But the events of the day had taken a horrible toll on Shark's awesome strength, and now he had none left with which to defend himself from Batman's savage attack.

The Penguin hadn't noticed until it was too late that Catwoman had slipped beside him. She was now able to take control of the little crime boss, if she had to. But she could see the Penguin's body sagging. The day had taken its toll on him as well.

Blow after blow continued to rain down on the Shark from the fists of Batman.

__

"Stop it, Batman! Please, you'll _kill _him!" a worried Catwoman said.

The pleading female voice cut through the red haze of anger that filled Batman's vision and thoughts, bringing him back to reality. He gazed down at the Shark's bloated, bleeding face and the ugly black and purple bruises that were already beginning to form there as a result of his countless blows.

__

"Batman!"

He turned to face the speaker as he rose, his arms hanging like lead weights at his side.

__

God, I'm tired.

"It's all right, Catwoman," he said softly to the woman by the door. "He's not dead."

Batman propped himself up against the wall, his right hand massaging his throbbing shoulder. It was all over now. Soon he would be able to get all the rest he wanted.

In the distance, he heard the whine of approaching sirens.

^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^

It was a greatly invigorated Bruce Wayne who awoke the next day after almost eighteen hours of beautiful, uninterrupted sleep. He stood under a hot shower for a long time, letting the hot water wash away the last ache from his body, then put on his bathrobe and a sling for his still painful shoulder and sat down with a glass of chocolate milk to catch the evening news on television.

The television screen lit up, showing videotaped highlights from last night's police raid on Two-Face's warehouse hideout. Police were loading the two dozen hired guns from both mobs into separate paddy wagons.

"... arrested the members of the city's infamous Penguin and Two-Face gangs. Police believe that both criminal organizations have been completely wiped out, thanks to these arrests."

The scene on the television screen changed, showing three officers leading a handcuffed Penguin to a waiting patrol car. Reporters were shoving microphones into the little man's face, shouting questions at him, but the Black Bird of Prey said nothing, did not even take his hooded eyes from the ground under his feet as he docilely allowed the police to lead him to the car.

"Also arrested," the voice-over commentary continued, "was the so-called Penguin himself, Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot, leader of one of the routed gangs. Gotham County District Attorney David Reed said he was seeking charges of attempted murder in the first degree against the crime boss for trying to slay his rival, former District Attorney Harvey Dent, now known as Two-Face."

The tape shifted again to Dent's study, where two paramedics were carrying a stretcher from the entrance to the tunnel. "Dent was reportedly seriously injured by the Penguin and his hired hitman in a showdown in Two-Face's hideout."

Dan Foster and woman, who Bruce assumed was the man's wife, stood before the blazing lights of a press conference with their daughter between them. Foster was saying, "... of course, I am withdrawing from the mayoral primary now that my daughter has been safely returned to me." The veteran newsman looked into the television camera, his expression tired but smiling. "And I'd like to take this opportunity to thank the people responsible for saving her from the Penguin's clutches, ladies and gentlemen, Batman, if you and Catwoman are listening, I'd like you to know that the two of you have my family's deepest gratitude for what you've done for us. Thank you both, and God bless you."

The scene shifted back to the studio and anchorman Russ Majors. "Gotham District Attorney David Reed said his office was investigating the possibility of bringing charges of kidnapping and extortion, as well as the attempted murder charges, against the captured Penguin."

Bruce Wayne smiled in satisfaction and reached for the remote to shut off his set when a picture of Edmond Hamilton flashed on screen behind Majors. "And in a somewhat related story, with Dan Foster dropping out of the election, it looks as if Mayor Edmond Hamilton will be able to win in the upcoming primary election. When asked what he thought of Foster bowing out of the race, the mayor was quoted as saying 'You can't get good competition these days,' unquote. Nobody's quite sure what the mayor meant by that."

Bruce laughed as shut off the television.

__

Hamilton, you old crow!

The bedroom door opened. "My, my, my, you're laughing!" Selina Kyle observed with great interest.

"I just found something that the mayor said to be amusing," he replied.

"Strange, I don't find that man amusing whatsoever. He's a sourpuss as far as I'm concerned."

"Did you see the thanks we received from Foster?"

"Yes, I told him to make sure the press spelled my name right. That's C ... A ... T ..."

"I hope professional journalists can get that much right."

"Oh, now you're making jokes? Are you sure that Penguin's big gorilla didn't knock you in the head a little too hard?"

"He threw me out of thirty-story window and nearly choked the life out of me. I don't remember being knocked in the head."

"How's the arm, lover?"

"It hurts."

"You know with your arm in that sling, when we make ..."

"Selina! Don't go there now! I can't concentrate on that and the pain at the same time."

Pushing herself against him. Selina kissed him hard on the mouth. "Oh, you're Batman! You can do anything."

-- Finis --


End file.
